


Storm Talens

by noktern



Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Adeptus Astartes - Freeform, Adeptus Mechanicus - Freeform, Commissar, Emperor's Tarot, Founding, Gen, Inquisition, Nephi - Freeform, Ordo Malleus, Raven Gaurd, Space Marines, gene-seed, inquisitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-04-20 13:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 54,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14261757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noktern/pseuds/noktern
Summary: The Nephi Crisis has ended, but the cost has been dear, billions lie dead across many systems.  The war that raged across the entire Capoia Sector has left the might of the Imperium drained.  In answer, the High Lords of Terra have proclaimed that there will be a new Founding.  Three new Chapters of Space Marines will be raised from the ashes of the conflict.  One of these Chapters, a successor of the Raven Gaurd, lies beneath the shadow of the past.  An uncertain future waits under the ever watchful gaze of the Inquisition.  How will history record them, will it record them at all?





	1. Mechanical Failure

**Author's Note:**

> Characters, settings, concepts, and worlds created, copyrighted, and trademarked by Games Workshop. As such these stories are derivative works created solely for entertainment.
> 
> Housekeeping: Sorry! There are lots of footnotes in this chapter. They can all be found at the end. I wanted to link them to make it easier for everyone but I haven't found a good way to do that yet! If I do, I'll come back to it and fix it!
> 
> I use the "+" sign to denote that the speakers are communicating in machine code. If you've ever heard an old dial-up modem tone that's what I imagine something like this would sound like.

“ _Grievous losses have been suffered by the Imperium during these dark days. The might of the Imperium will not be diminished! Our foes believe us weakened and fearful. Let them; it matters not. By skilled hand may a shattered blade be reforged bright and lethal once more! By the Will of the Emperor and by decree of the High Lords of Terra let there be a new founding of the Adeptus Astartes!”_

_– High Lord Thracius, Resolution of the Nephi Crisis_

The founding of a Chapter1 of the Adeptus Astartes2; an undertaking of coordination and almost mythical levels of resources. Three full Chapters created from the genetic bounty tithed to the Adeptus Mechanicus3 and each a new successor from one of the Legions of 1st Founding4. The elevation of a mortal to the ranks of the Astartes required many things: training, hypno-conditioning, and of course compatibility with the implants born of the holy gene-seed5.

Gene-seed, the genetic legacy of the Primarchs6. Created by the Emperor of Mankind7 in ages long past at the height of the technological might of the Imperium of Man. Each Space Marine bears within his flesh two Progenoid glands; one situated in the throat and the other in the chest cavity. These specialized glands absorb genetic material from the implanted organs that allow the elevation from normal human to superhuman. As such, it is amongst the most precious of resources of the Imperium. Without it, the strength of the Adeptus Astartes would be spent all too soon. Without the Adeptus Astartes, the Imperium8 would fall.

Deep within the sacred Gene Vaults of the Triticum Sanctum XII facility in which she worked, it was the gene-seed which concerned Genator9 Secondus10 Adira Sarain. Three times she had performed the rites and incantations to persuade the machine spirits to verify the inventory count of the Raven Guard gene-seed stores. Three times the cogitators had confirmed the data currently being displayed in her noosphere construct: Cellular necrosis affecting 55.7% of the gene-seed stores designated Adeptus Astartes: Raven Guard11 Cause: Pending.

She looked around at the room at the other Genator Secondus’ working in the control room, each driven by their specific task. Some, like her, were working on the necessary protocols and processes required to release the Holy Gene-seed of the Adeptus Astartes from the cryo-vaults. Others were involved in directing teams of researchers whose responsibility it was to test and act as caretakers for the inventory of the other Chapters that lay within the climate controlled gene vaults and the holy machines preserving them.

It was one of the most significant responsibilities any in the Adeptus Mechanicus Biologica could have placed upon them. From the lowest level tech-thrall to the Archmagos Genetus12 each member of the Adeptus Mechanicus within the facility held to the highest of standards of perfection. The security of the Imperium of Man relied on the strength of the Adeptus Astartes and the continued existence of the Astartes relied on the stewardship of its genetic legacy. To have somehow failed in that sacred trust was unthinkable, and yet, that was what had happened.

Reluctantly, she turned her optical sensors towards the central dais where Genator Primus13 Fanya Kataria stood at station. The senior member of the Magos Biologica overseeing the Psi-Omega Gene Vaults as well as the task of collecting and transporting the genetic bounty of three Chapters of the Adeptus Astartes from cryo-storage to the implantation facility on Holy Mars.

+Genator Primus Kataria,+ she pulsed in the binary cant14 of the Mechanicus. “+I am routing data in regards to the Corvus gene-seed to your noosphere15 node. It is of vital importance you look at it immediately.+

+Recieved.+ The Primus responded without taking her attention from the task before her. Genator Secondus Sarain waited as the Primus reviewed it. She did not have to wait long. +Routine scans of the inventory during removal from cryogenic storage identified the cellular necrosis?+

+Confirmed Genator Primus. A team of servitors16, Tech-Priests17, and Enginseers18 were dispatched as soon as the discrepancy was revealed.+ Adira responded. +They will be there in 9120 seconds to begin diagnostics and reclamation of remaining viable inventory.+

+Noted Genator Secundus Sarain, in-load additional data as it becomes available.+ Genator Primus Kataria activated a separate communication node and coded the communication at the highest security level available to her. +Blessings of the Omnissiah, Magos Genator Alistair Lileri. Routine scans of Gene Vaults Psi-Omega-Omega-Mu through Psi-Omega-Omega-Omicron report fifty-five point seven percent cellular necrosis of gene-seed stores upon removal from cryogenic stasis. Teams are in transit to attempt recovery, however, given the available data there is only one point zero zero two percent chance that any of the zygotes from the affected inventory will be salvageable.+

The noosphere communication module confirmed that the message was encrypted and delivered to the Magos Genator. _This is catastrophic._ Genator Primus Kataria thought to herself as she turned her attention to her internal chronometer, counting the seconds until the inevitable response arrived.

###

Nestled below the frozen surface of Triticum Sanctum XII, a meeting of the most senior members of the Adeptus Mechanicus Biological facility convened. Magos Genator19 Alistair Lileri, who oversaw the administration of half of the gene vaults within the facility, hovered mere inches from the surface of the floor, the emerald hem of his robes swaying gently in the wash of the gravimetric force holding his augmented form aloft. The six mechadendrites20  positioned along the length of his spine clasped one another behind his back. +It has been three hours, two minutes, and eighteen seconds since Magos Primus Kataria of Gene Vault Psi-Omega in-loaded the status of the Corvus gene-seed stored within. In that time the reclamation team sent to verify the system scans and inspect the gene-seed have verified that cellular necrosis has resulted in the loss of five hundred and forty-nine specimens.+ He pulsed, his Noosphere interface cracking in sympathetic indignation.

+Was the reclamation team able to discover the cause of the cellular necrosis?+ Inquired Magos Genator Pilar Calishia, under whose responsibility fell the remaining Gene Vaults. Emerald green robes also covered her form. Where visible, the bronzed augmetics that replaced her biological parts quietly clicking and whirring.

+Molecular degeneration of the suspension fluid caused by contaminated line feeds.+ Lileri responded. +The Enginseer of the reclamation team determined that the contamination stemmed from the previous maintenance cycle. The Adept responsible and his thralls await the judgment of the Magos Genetus for their failure.+ Calishia turned her head to regard the silent form of the Magos Genetus, most senior representative of the Adeptus Mechanicus in the facility.

Magos Genetus Shon Aerelius was rumored to have been a giant of flesh and bone before his elevation to the machine. Nearly as tall and broad as one of the Adeptus Astarted themselves, the Magos Genetus was an imposing figure. Robed in the emerald green of his order, only the silver mask that comprised Aerelius’ face was visible under the heavy hood. +The thralls will be converted to servitors. The Adept will be stripped of all but the most necessary of his augmentations and forced to labor alongside the janitorial crews until he learns the dedication of the machine.+ Both Magos Genators bowed in response. +The crisis we now face is most pressing. We will be unable to meet the timelines required by the High Lord’s decree. Taking into account the standard loss of test specimens, and genetic refining it will take an additional thirty years before a Corvus based Chapter will be viable.+

+Petitioning the Raven Guard or the successors for additional zygotes tithes21 are unappealing notions.+ Mused Magos Denatellan, senior Enginseer, under whom responsibility for the maintenance of all of the holy machines within the facility fell. Like many of his order, his robes were the color of rust and hid significant modifications. The Magos had refrained from commenting as the Archmagos Genatus had pronounced sentence of the adept and his thralls. +I do not believe that the sons of Corvus Corax would take kindly to the loss of their genetic heritage and even if they were to assist, it would significantly hamper future relations.+

+I concur.+ Magos Genetus Calishia responded.

+That leaves only two logical options then.+ Lileri stated. +Primus: We inform the High Lords22 that creation of a Corvus based Chapter will take more time than expected and suggest that the timeline be re-evaluated based on these new developments.+ He paused for a moment, seeming to consider the option. +Secundus: The High Lords are convinced to select a different genetic legacy with which to elevate to construct the third Chapter of this founding.+

The room fell silent but for the whirling and click of augmetics and the faint rustle of cloth. +Both options present significant issues Magos Genator Lileri.+ Magos Genetus Shon Aerelius was old. Old enough, in fact, to remember the previous Founding23 though he was but an Adept at the time. +Primus: The High Lords do nothing on a whim. If there is a timeline for the creation of these Chapters, then there is a reason for it. We could postulate for hours on what those reasons might be and therefore prepare to counter them, but it would be all for naught. The great machine that is the Imperium is already in motion. Secundus: Of the two, this solution is the more probable though it brings with it the genuine possibility of damaging the relationship between the Raven Guard along with their Successor Chapters24 and the Adeptus Mechanicus.+

+We could covertly access the gene-seed of the Successor Chapters and take what is needed.+ Magos Genator Calishia said quietly. +There are enough available that the required numbers can be achieved without adversely reducing overall stock levels. We would need to continue the process of test implantation to return gene-seed levels to what they were.+ She looked at the Archmagos Genatus. +None need know.+

+I do not believe that a wise course of action.+ Magos Genator Lileri responded, drifting closer to his opposite number. +If any of the Successor Chapters were to suffer catastrophic losses before this facility successfully replenished the gene-seed, we would be unable to reconstitute the Chapter as quickly as we should.+

+Come with me.+ The Archmagos Genatus said to the others. +I have decided on a course of action.+ Without waiting for either of the Genators or the Magos, Aerelius proceeded towards the lift at the other end of the chamber.

+Where is it that we go Archmagos Genatus?+ Magos Genator Lileri inquired.

The door to the lift opened before Aerelius who paused before stepping into the confined space. Entering, the Archmagos Genatus moved to the back of the car to make room for his smaller subordinates. +We go to the Vault of the Forgotten.+

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Chapter: An autonomous military brotherhood made up of one thousand of Astartes and their related vehicles, starships and support personnel  
> 2\. Adeptus Astartes: Also known as Space Marines. Genetically engineered transhuman super soldiers. It is said that 1 Space Marine is equal to at least 100 normal men.  
> 3\. Adeptus Mechanicus: Also known as the Cult Mechanicus or Cult of the Machine based on Mars which provides the Imperium with its scientists, engineers, and technicians. The Adepts of the Mechanicus are the primary keepers of what is viewed as sacred wisdom, a privileged caste of Tech-priests who jealously guard the knowledge required to maintain and construct much of the Imperium’s advanced technology  
> 4\. 1st Founding: One of the original 20 Legions founded directly from the gene-seed of the Primarchs.  
> 5\. Gene-seed: Genetically modified cells and viral machines that grow into specialized organs used to transform a human male adolescent into a Space Marine. Also can refer to the Progenoid glands; these glands gather and store the modified cells and viral machines samples previously mentioned. These glands are the only way additional Astartes can be created.  
> 6\. Primarch: The genetically-engineered transhuman son of the Emperor of Mankind created in the late 30th Millennium after the end of the Unification Wars. There were originally twenty of them, however, two met unknown fates and are expunged from Imperial Records along with any information regarding the Legions they fathered. Their genetic code provided the basis for the creation of the Space Marines of the original Legions.  
> 7\. Emperor of Mankind: Also known as the God-Emperor. An immortal psychic who was born in ancient central Anatolia (modern Turkey) in the 8th Millennium B.C. Mortally wounded a the end of the Horus Heresy, he is now intered in a life support system called the Golden Throne.  
> 8.Imperium: Also known of the Imperium of Man. A galaxy-spanning interstellar human empire, the ultimate authority for the majority of the human race in the Milky Way Galaxy.  
> 9\. Genator: Also known as Magos Biologis. Essentially, geneticists, a Genetor is a high-ranking Adeptus Mechanicus Tech-priest who studies all matters genetic and biological.  
> 10\. Genator Secondus: Lowest rank of those who specialize in genetics.  
> 11\. Raven Guard: Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes descended from the Primarch Corvus Corax. Nineteenth Legion of the 1st Founding.  
> 12\. Archmagos Genetus: Highest ranking member of the Adeptus Mechanicus Biologica on the planet. If the planet is controlled by the Mechanicus, they also hold the rank of Imperial Governor.  
> 13\. Genator Primus: Out-ranks the Genator Secondus.  
> 14\. Binary cant: Also known as binharic cant or binary. One of the many Cant Mechanicus or machine languages used by the Mechanicus  
> 15\. Nooosphere: A communication technology system developed by the Mechanicum. Similar to augmented reality in concept accessbile only to those with interface nodes.  
> 16\. Servitor: A catch-all term applied to a wide class of mind-wiped cybernetic drones created from a fusion of human flesh and robotic technology and utilized for a variety of tasks.  
> 17\. Tech-Priest: Member of the Cult Mechanicus who posses non-specialized skills in science and technology.  
> 18\. Enginseer: A tech-priest whose specialization is the maintenance and repair of the many technological instruments utilized in the Imperium  
> 19\. Magos Genator: Genator rank below Archmagos and above Genator Primus.  
> 20\. Mechadendrite: The term used for a large assortment of tentacle-like bionic prosthetics used mostly by the Mechanicus.  
> 21\. Gene-seed Tithe: Every Imperial Space Marine Chapter sends a portion of their recovery Gene-seed to be stored and examined by the Mechanicus for genetic variation. These tithes, if found within an acceptable range of genetic drift is used to replenish the Chapter if decimated or in the creation of wholly new Chapters.  
> 22\. High Lords: Also known as the High Lords of Terra. An Imperial governing body comprised of the twelve highest-ranked officials of the most powerful Adepta of the Imperium of Man. This body carries out the day-to-day decisions required to govern the Imperium in the Emperor of Mankind’s name.  
> 23\. Founding: The creation of additional Space Marine Chapters involving the resources of all aspects of the Imperium of Man. Massive resources and co-operation is required to create a new Chapter. Only the High Lords possess the required authority.  
> 24\. Successor Chapters: Any Chapter created after the Horus Heresy from the gene-seed of the remaining nine loyalist Legions.


	2. The Vault of the Forgotten

The Vault of the Forgotten lay at the lowest levels of the facility, three kilometers below the surface of a dead world. In a facility that was itself a closely guarded secret, the Vault of the Forgotten was but a myth to all but a handful of the highest echelon of the facility. Outside of the Magos Genators and the Archmagos Genatus himself, only Magos Denatellan and his hand-picked acolytes knew of its existence.

Reaching its destination, the servitor within the lift scanned the occupants a final time before opening the doors. As the lift doors slid open, a chill sterile air rushed into the confined space. The other Magos moved to the sides of the lift to allow the Archmagos to be the first to step into the corridor. Heavy gun emplacements lay dormant along the length of the passage, serving as a mute reminder of the importance of the vault that lay beyond the age-darkened bronze doors barely visible at the far end. The Magos and Archmagos proceeded in silence as they approached the gates before stopping at the threshold. Raising his hands in supplication, Archmagos Genatus Aerelius began the ritual required to grant them entry to the Vault.

As the ritual proceeded, ancient lascannons1 and heavy bolters2 in the gun emplacements along the length of the corridor went live causing the detection systems in the Magos’ implants to cry out warning of multiple target locks on each of their persons. “Grant your servants entrance to this hallowed repository! Ave Sancti Apparatus!” Aerelius intoned as he inserted a mechadendrite into the hidden port in the door and manipulated the complicated lock within. As the weapons systems around them returned to dormancy, a series of heavy thunks echoed through the corridor as the complex locking mechanisms disengaged. A deep ratcheting sound accompanied the slowly rising door as it disappeared into the alcove above.

A leeching chill crept from the weakly illuminated chamber beyond the threshold as the Archmagos, and his companions waited patiently. When the massive door had finished its ascension, Aerelius entered the vault, followed closely by the Magos. The lighting systems slowly began to increase the intensity of light within as it detected the presence of the tech-priests. As the brightness levels rose, the interior of the chamber revealed the presence of ancient cryogenic support systems and tiered gene-banks that receded far into the distance. Each of the individual banks had a honeycombed appearance. Armored as well as possessing redundant maintenance systems far more advanced than those found in the vaults many meters above; the Mechanicum could no longer repair these ancient machines.

“Forgive me Archmagos Genatus,” Magos Genator Calishia said, choosing to speak aloud in order to keep a record of the conversation from being logged in the Noosphere. “Do you truly intend to raise a Chapter from zygotes of the forgotten and unknown?”

The Archmagos Genatus moved forward down the rows of vaults, each containing one hundred cryogenically preserved samples of gene-seed faintly visible through the patina of hoarfrost. “Not an entire Chapter, no.” He responded. “Deeper investigations of the ruined gene-seed noted that some of the germ-cells in the affected samples are still viable. I intend to replace the affected samples with viable samples from this vault.”

The tech-priests followed in silence as the Archmagos Genatus moved further into the Vault. Finally, it was Magos Genator Lileri who spoke. “How do you intend to account for any variations between the resulting Astartes and those of the Raven Guard?”

“I have been studying the samples of the gene-seed stored here, as did my predecessors since the rediscovery of the Vault.” Archmagos Genatus Aerelius said before stopping and turning to look at his subordinates. “The answers lie within. You shall see.”

All three Magos shared a dubious glance.

“The mysteries of the Omnissiah and the Emperor Ascendant are wondrous indeed and will provide.” The Archmagos

“Of course.” Magos Genator Lileri responded with a deep bow. “Glory to the Omnissiah and the Emperor Ascendant.” Lileri and the other two Magos intoned the traditional response. The Archmagos Genatus turned and once again began to move slowly through the rows of hexagonal shaped cryo-vaults.

_###_

Thirty minutes had elapsed since the Magos had first entered the vault. In that time they had passed rows upon rows of gene-vaults, each containing the gene-seed of a Chapter whose identity, for one reason or another, had been lost to the ravages of time. Each vault was monitored by its own individual cogitator3 unlike the units in the vaults above. If one were to wipe away the frost coating the surfaces of the displays, one could request the date that the gene-seed had been placed in the vault as well as the system maintenance status from the ancient machine spirit. One could, that is, if they possed the requisite Ritual of Awakening. While the knowledge of this particular version of the ritual was known to Magos Denatellan and his acolytes, only the Archmagos Genatus himself possessed the knowledge to awaken the machine spirit within and access the gene-seed itself.

The further they progressed into the chamber, the further back in the history of the Imperium the dates stamped on the vaults went. Occasionally the servants of the Machine God passed vaults that lay empty and deactivated. On the rare occasion that the identity of the gene-seed within was positively discovered, it was returned to the vaults above to join others of its heritage. Some of these empty vaults were due to discovery, others to entropy. The archeotech4 systems found in these vaults were beyond the ability of the Adeptus Mechanicus to restore.

Protocols established long ago required that only gene-seed whose identity was a verified match to Mechanicus records within a ninety-eight percentile of accuracy could be returned to the cryo-vaults stored above.  His successes were the result of the culmination of over a millennium of research and careful study. The gene-seed was fickle; the least of its secrets could be unlocked only through the most patient effort and testing.  Secluded within his private laboratories, Aerelius worked to tease the genetic identity from the contents of the Vault of the Forgotten. It was tireless work. While some specimens genetic code could be simply examined, occasionally the nascent organs needed to fully be grown and implanted into a specially engineered human clone blank and observed before their true nature could be determined. In Aerelius’s tenure as Archmagus Genatus he had returned more stock of the gene-seed to its rightful place than any his predecessors.

Much of the gene-seed accurately identified in the vault belonged to Astartes Chapters that no longer existed, their numbers reduced beyond viability or otherwise completely wiped out in the long history of the Imperium.  Under these situations, this gene-seed ended up transported from this remote outpost to one of the main Mechanicus facilities elsewhere in the Segmentum Solar5.

The Magos continued their journey still deeper into the vault. Entering into the most ancient portion of the vault the environs were more akin to the crypt of some long lost cathedral than that of laboratory storage facility. Many of the gene-banks surrounding the Magos were dark with age. Natural formations of stone encased the lower portions of the devices. None of these units had visible date-stamps on them. Instead, engraved on each, was a number and an accompanying Hellenic letter. Many were dark and non-functional. Some showed signs that they had failed in the ages before the vault had been re-discovered; the scraps of flesh within appearing desiccated and withered. Surprisingly, many of the gene-banks also showed signs of intentional damage.

The Archmagos Genatus stopped before a row of gene-banks whose frost covered surfaces showed signs of being disturbed more recently than those around them. “The answer to our current crisis lies within the cyro-vaults before us.” He intoned. “These Progenoid glands of ancient origin bear a striking resemblance to that of the sons of Corax.”

“A striking resemblance Archmagos?” Inquired Magos Denatellan.

“Yes, Magos Denatellan. Many of the gene factors are similar to the Corvus gene-seed. Including the characteristics of the dysfunction of the Melanochrome6 and the lack of mutation within the zygotes themselves over successive generations.”

Calishia and Lileri exchanged a meaningful glance. “Then these are of the Corvus gene factor?” Lileri asked.

“That remains unconfirmed,” Aerelius responded as an archaic mechadendrite extended from his robed form and plugged into a receptacle on the gene-bank. “The age of the samples makes confirmation of the gene factor difficult. It is possible that these samples predate the genetic drift that caused the later gene-seed bearers to develop inactive Betcher’s Gland7 and Mucranoid 8 organs.”

The three Magos remained silent as the Archmagos worked to release the security protocols on the gene-bank before him. “Master,” Calishia said after a moment, or two had passed. “The Corvus gene-seed is not the only one that demonstrates those factors. There are ot….”

“It serves our purpose Genatus.” Aerelius interrupted.

“These gene-banks are ancient. The implications of the numerical identifier are inauspicious.” Lileri added.

“These concerns are beneath you both. The gene-seed will serve our purpose, Magos Genators. I find it disturbing that you seem to lack faith in the Omnissiah in this matter.” Archmagos Genatus Aerelius said, his tone brooking no argument. He turned and let his gaze settle on each of his subordinates in turn. “Magos Genator Calishia and Magos Denatellan, you will prepare the Progenoid glands in cryo-vaults VII-Theta through VII-Omicron for transportation to my private laboratory. Magos Genator Lileri, you will have the damaged glands from Psi-Omega re-directed to my laboratory as well.”

“Acknowledged.” The three Magos replied in unison bowing deeply.

Aerelius turned back to the cryo-vaults, watching as the ice cracked around the great locks and seals that had protected the ancient gene-seed within for untold centuries. “Let us breathe life back into both the lost and the forgotten.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Lascannon: A power heavy laser weapon that fires coherent light that can penetrate most armoured vehicles.  
> 2\. Heavy Bolter: A powerful bolt weapon primarily used for anti-infantry and fire support.  
> 3\. Cogitator: A computer far more advanced than the modern version used today, they are often constructed with more arcane and gothic appearances  
> 4\. Archeotech: Formerly lost advanced technology created by man sometime in the past. Even when recovered, the secrets of how to repair let alone construct, most Archeotech is beyond the Imperium of Man’s ability.  
> 5\. Segmentum Solar: Centered on Holy Terra (Earth) and the Sol System, this is the central hub of the Imperium of Man and the most ancient and densely settled region of human space  
> 6\. Melanochrome: Thirteenth of the nineteen organs implanted in a Space Marine. This organ controls the amount of Melanin in the skin, protecting the Marine from high levels of sunlight and other forms of electromagnetic radiation.  
> 7\. Betcher’s Gland: Seventeenth of the nineteen implanted organs and allows the Space Marine to spit a corrosive acid when triggered  
> 8\. Mucranoid: The sixteenth of the nineteen organs implanted within a Space Marine. This organ, under the chemical stimulus, causes a waxy mucus-like substance to be exuded from the pores that will seal the skin providing significant protection from the harsh vacuum of space and other hostile environments.


	3. Setting the Stage

Shadow Captain1 Dominic Huuen of the Raven Guard’s 3rd Company 2 stood before one of the large transparent plasteel 3 panels that made up the observation dome and looked out at the shipyards of Volos before him. He was an imposing figure in his black artificer 4 crafted power armour 5 , the massive gauntlets of his lightning claws 6 doing nothing to disabuse the observer of that fact. Dominic Huuen’s closely shorn black hair and black eyes along with the pale skin of his gene-father gave testament to his genetic legacy. The multitude of scars on his face and the three service studs 7 on his brow gave evidence to his centuries of service before the Emperor.

The orbital shipyard beyond the plasteel panels was abuzz with activity. Cradled in the great dock below the Raven Guard Captain rested the corpse of a ruined starship vast enough to be a battle barge being stripped down and rebuilt. It’s discovery on the edge of a nebula in the Segmentum Pacificus8 catapulted the starship Captain who had found it from rogue to Rogue Trader 9It would be many years before the ship would be fully sheathed in armoured skin again.

His gene enhanced senses alerted him to the approach of the mortal despite the relative silence with which it approached. “It is truly a wondrous sight to behold, is it not Captain Huuen?” the rich feminine voice asked. “A warship of her tonnage striped to its adamantine bones slowly brought back to life and service?”

“It is indeed Inquisitor van Straal.” Captain Huuen replied, turning his head slightly to glance at the woman standing behind him. Inquisitor10Niobe van Straal was a young woman of average height with strawberry blonde hair, storm grey eyes, and a smile that Captain Huuen had overheard one of the Naval Officers call infectious.

The inquisitor sported a black leather storm-coat made from a single piece from the hide of some scaled lizard beneath which Huuen could see a dark grey bodyglove underneath. With high black leather boots and her Inquisitorial Rosette11 pinned to the collar of her storm-coat, he supposed that many mortals would find her both equally imposing and intriguing. The Space Marine Captian returned his gaze to the industry of the shipyards finding her to be neither.

The Inquisitor came to stand beside him. “That she was discovered open to the ravages of the void, her engines cold and dead for centuries. I find it humbling.”

Captain Huuen shifted his gaze back towards the Inquisitor to find her looking up at him rather than at the shipyard. In his power armour, the Space Marine towered over her significantly. “What is it I can do for you, Inquisitor?” He asked.

She smiled. “Straight to the point. Good. I like that. I have a request for you. I understand that you and your Company are training the neophytes of the unborn Chapter of Astartes based on the Raven Guard’s genetic legacy. As such you and your officers will have ample opportunity to observe the neophytes closely. If you observe any deviation from what you would expect from a Raven Guard neophyte I would appreciate it if it brought to my attention directly.”

“You sound as if you are expecting there to be problems, Inquisitor.” Captain Huuen replied in an emotionless tone. “If that is the case, I would know what your concerns are. You make it sound as if the purity of our genetic legacy were in question.”

“Not at all Captain. As you well know, while a rare event, this is hardly the first time that the Emperor and the High Lords of Terra have had reason to raise additional Chapters of Astartes.” Van Straal shrugs. “We simply have learned from the lessons of the past to be cautious and treat such a momentous task with the attention it requires.” The heavy sound of power armoured footsteps approaching reached Captain Huuen’s ears with enough volume that he was sure that the Inquisitor would be able to hear them as well. “A member of the Ordos12 will be monitoring each of the other two fledgling Chapters as well. I assure you, no offense is intended.”

The Astartes Captain inclined his head. “As you say, Inquisitor. I will ensure that my Officers are aware of your request.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Inquisitor Niobe van Straal turned her head to look at the approaching Raven Guard Marine, noting the Sergeant’s markings on his Mark IV power armour. “It appears that one of your Sergeants has searched you out. I’ll take my leave.” She said as she made the Sign of the Aquila13.

“Of course.” Captain Huuen returned the gesture and watched as the Inquisitor walked towards the gateway through which the other Space Marine has just passed. As they crossed each other’s path, both the Inquisitor and the Veteran Sergeant14 made to Sign of the Aquila to one another in greeting.

“Hail, Shadow Captain,” Veteran Sergeant Egan Rasnic said in greeting as he came to stand before his Captain. Like his Captain, Sergeant Rasnic’s hair and eyes were both black as night while his skin was so pale almost to be colourless.

“Hail, Brother-Sergeant.” Captain Huuen replied formally pausing until the Inquisitor had exited the Observation Dome to continue. “I haven’t heard you move that clumsily since we were novices.”

The other space marine shrugged, his armour growling. “My apologies Shadow Captain,” he said as he discreetly pressed the activation rune on a small device on his belt and waiting until Captain Huuen had done the same. “All for the benefit of the Inquisitor,” he said sub-vocalizing his words.

Huuen glanced back towards the gateway. “I understand,” he said, also pressing the activation rune on a similar device. “Did you overhear any of the conversation?”

“Most of it. Regardless what van Straal claims, the presence of the Inquisition is hardly comforting,” he said with a slight frown on his face. “Considering my reasons for searching you out I can’t imagine the conversation is a coincidence.”

“That’s an ominous statement.”

Rasnic nodded. “Indeed. We’ve received word from Mars, the first group of novitiates is arriving on the next inbound Mechanicus starship.” Captain Huuen raised an eyebrow. “Master Apothecary Hess has reported that the Mechanicum indicated that there would be irregularities with the novitiates and their gene-seed and requests your presence.”

The Shadow Captain continued to stare at the far doorway for a moment. _What are you playing at Inquisitor?_ He thought to himself before replying. “Then we should return to the _Umbra Rex_.”

_###_

The Strike Carrier _Umbra Rex_ maintained a position just beyond the Shipyards at Volos. One and a half kilometers of raw firepower and speed sheathed in ceramite and titanium ablative armour. Its pitted black hull, emblazoned with the white iconography of the Raven Guard, displayed mute testimony to the countless wars and battles it had witnessed in the centuries since its construction. Within its hallowed halls the Astartes of the third company, the Ghoststalkers, were far from idle. The company’s host, from neophyte to veteran, honed their skills to the fine edge that befitted the legacy of their Captain, their Chapter, and their Primarch. A legacy that they were soon to share with the yet unborn Chapter.

To be chosen by the Chapter Master of the Raven Guard to train and foster their soon to be Brothers was both a singular honour and a heavy burden. One that Shadow Captain Huuen was proud beyond words to share with his brothers in the third. It was that legacy that was now the primary focus of concern for Master Apothecary Serya Hess. The Founding was an undertaking unlike any he had taken part of in a life that had spanned two centuries.

Standing at the cogitator embedded in the wall of Medical Ward Primarus of the _Umbra Rex_ , Apothecary Hess scrolled through the medical files of the one thousand neophytes en route from the transfer station on Mars. According to what he had seen so far, each had survived the first phase of the series of implantations that the youths would undergo to elevate them from a human male into one the transhuman Astartes. Unsurprising considering that each of the neophytes genetic makeup had an extremely high synchronicity rate with the Chapter gene-seed. However, it was early in the process. There was still a chance that catastrophic organ rejection would reduce the number; let alone the guaranteed losses they would incur during training.

Hess closed the neophyte medical records and re-opened the encrypted file regarding the gene-seed itself as the senior officers of the 3rd Company entered the medical ward lead by Shadow Captain Huuen. “Greetings Apothecary.”

“Shadow Captain.” Hess inclined his head. “Thank you all for coming.”

“What was so urgent Serya?” Inquired Chaplain Orhan Pelic as he removed the skull-shaped helmet revealing his pale, shaven head and cold black eyes. “We all have much in the way of preparations.”

Apothecary Hess pursed his lips. “Straight to the point then?” He asked. Captain Huuen nodded. “The neophytes are in route and will arrive in the next 24 hours sidereal. A courier was sent ahead with sensitive documents regarding the neophytes and the accompanying implants.”

Epistolary Demot Coha crossed his arms. Like all sons of Corax, Coha’s skin was pale, and his hair and his right eye was black as night. A silver cybernetic that glowed softly with a blue light replaced the left. “As I understand it there are ten that show potential for psychic aptitude.”

“That is correct.” the Apothecary confirmed. “I have transferred the relevant data in regards to those neophytes to this data crystal for Librarian Zar and yourself to peruse,” he said as he handed the Epistolary a data crystal who nodded in thanks. “The neophytes are all extremely high-quality subjects with scores and ratings well above the minimum acceptable levels for the needs of a Chapter. Each of them shows a very high genetic compatibility with the gene-seed. The Mechanicum have done well in selecting them, and I foresee few complications from the remaining phases of implantation.”

“Yet, you have concerns.” Stated Captain Huuen.

“Indeed I do.” The Apothecary took a deep breath. “I have been informed by the Mechanicus that the implants have all been designated for specific specimens to ensure the highest degree of compatibility.” He paused, what he had to say next would not be well received. “I have also been informed that the implants have been modified to correct the defects present in our Chapter’s gene-seed.”

“What hubris! What arrogance!” Chaplain Pelic exclaimed, his hand clenching the haft of his Crozius Arcanum in outrage. “How dare the Mechanicus imply that the legacy of the Primarch and the Emperor in need of improvement?!”

“Calm yourself brother-chaplain.” Captain Huuen commanded. “Explain this to me, Apothecary. What changes did the Mechanicus implement?”

“I will refrain from getting into the technical aspects of the resequencing, but it appears that the Magos Biologis has been successful in restoring the function of the Mucranoid and the Betcher’s Glands,” Hess said. “As a side effect, the neophytes eyes will become extremely sensitive to bright light, and the iris and sclera of their eyes will turn black once the Occulobe grafts are successfully integrated. Upon implantation of the Melanochrome, the skin will rapidly drain of pigment until it is a pale as the eldest veteran of the Raven Guard.”

The Shadow Captain shared a look with Veteran Sergeant Rasnic who was leaning against one of the surgical slabs and then looked at each of his officers in turn. “The Inquisitor came to see me before I received word that the neophytes were in transit. She requested that we inform her if there were any deviation in the neophytes from what we expected. The Inquisitor assured me that the request and her involvement was simply routine.”

“It makes a certain amount of sense that the Inquisition would want to keep an eye on newly Founded Chapters all things considered.” Coha conceded.

“The fools!” Chaplain Pelic growled. “As if there have not been enough instances where mortal interference with the Emperor’s designs has brought tragedy!”

“Regardless of past issues, the Archmagos Genatus of the gene-seed facility has done significant testing on the stability of the modified gene-seed and have found it to be incredibly stable and free of genetic variation over twenty generations of clone samples.” The Apothecary reported.

Sergeant Rasnic frowned. “If these changes are as relatively minor and as stable as you make them sound, why do they concern you so much, brother?”

Apothecary Hess closed the encrypted file and removed the data crystal from its port in the wall mounted cogitator. “There is an old saying: If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. There is no data in regards to how the Archmagos was able to accomplish this feat with such minor side-effects. Due to the absence of this data, should any complications arise these changes add an unknown quantity we will not be able to take into account.” The Apothecary leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. “If there was some systemic failure, there might not be time to find a solution before a significant number of the neophytes succumb. Not to mention the fact that undiagnosed mutagenic factors also been known to occur during high stress.”

Chaplain Pelic, his ire having cooled somewhat, responded next. “Medical concerns aside, I foresee some discomfort from the line Astartes. We all know the effects our Primarch’s blood has upon his sons. The physiological differences sound minor enough, but they will not go unnoticed by our brothers. There will be questions as well as misgivings.”

“The physiological differences will not start to become apparent for the first two to four years according to the data provided by the Mechanicus.” Noted the Apothecary. “However, once it starts, the changes are rapid and will not escape notice or be concealable.”

“We aren’t suggesting that we conceal this information from not only our brothers but also from the Inquisition as well are we?” Sergeant Rasnic asked looking the Huuen.

The Astartes all turned to look at their Captain. “For the moment, we will continue as ordered. We will train and observe the neophytes; no differently than we would if they were intended to join our Chapter.” Shadow Captain Huuen stated. “I will send word to the Chapter Master to inform him of the situation. Perhaps he can be persuaded to come and visit Volos himself.”

“What of the Inquisitor’s ‘request’? Do we tell her?” Inquired Sergeant Rasnic.

Captain Huuen shook his head slightly. “Until we hear back from Deliverance, the details of this meeting shall remain between us.”

“Aye Shadow Captain.” The assemble Astartes acknowledged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Shadow Captain: Honorific given to the Captain of the Raven Guard’s 3rd Company.  
> 2\. Company: An organizational unit within an Astartes Chapter consisting of 100 Astartes lead by an Officer with the rank of Captain.  
> 3\. Plasteel: A synthetic material with the consistency of plastic and the tensile strength of steel.  
> 4\. Artificer: Artificer crafted power armor is individually customized for high ranking member of the Adeptus Astartes.  
> 5\. Power Armour: Advanced combat armour that is self-enclosed and regulated.  
> 6\. Lightning Claw: A power weapon consisting of three or four adamantium blades mounted on a powered gauntlet that are separately sheathed in a power field that disrupts matter.  
> 7\. Service Stud: Small metallic studs attached to the cranium through the skin to denote years of service. The number each represents is determined by the Chapter. Not all Chapters participate in this form of recognition. In this case, each stud is 100 years.  
> 8\. Segmentum Pacificus: The region of Imperial Space to the galactic west of Terra.  
> 9\. Rogue Trader: Unique and powerful human individuals who serve as a combination freelance explorer, conquistador and interstellar merchant for the Imperium of Man. These individuals are granted significant lattitude beyond the ordinary traders and shipmasters of the Imperium  
> 10\. Inquisitor: A high-ranking agent of the Imperial Inquisition, an organization charged by the Emperor to route out the shadowy enemies of Mankind. In order to pursue their mandates, Inquisitors possess almost unlimited authority.  
> 11\. Inquisitorial Rosette: A symbolic icon of the Inquisition in the shape of a stylized “I” or column with three bands arranged vertically. Many Inquisitorial Rosettes posses extremely high-level encryption coding and verification technology.  
> 12\. Ordos: Refering to the three major Orders of the Inquisition. These being Ordos Hereticus (tasked with protecting mankind from itself), Ordos Xenos (tasked with protecting mankind from the alien), and the Ordos Malleus (tasked with protecting mankind from the daemonic dangers of Chaos).  
> 13\. Sign of the Aquila: A universal hand gesture used to show one’s allegiance to the Imperium of Man.  
> 14\. Sergeant: A noncommissioned officer who commands a squad composed of 10 Space Marines.


	4. Memories and Portents

Inquisitor Niobe Van Staal sat alone in a small room in her apartments on board her ship, the Reumate. Only the faintest glow emanated from the lumen globes situated around the ritual space she had prepared. Hexagrammic wards traced in silver covered the walls, floor, and ceiling and shimmer slightly in the faint light. Thrice-blessed incense burning in braziers at the cardinal points cleansed both Niobe’s mind and the space around her. She sat, legs folded beneath her, and focused on her breathing. Taking a deep breath in through her nose, she drew the purity of the incense into her lungs before exhaling fully through her mouth causing eddies in the smoke surrounding her.

She directed her rational mind, that which was rooted in the material world, to examine herself as well as her preparations and found them to be as she expected. Her humors1 were balanced, and her body relaxed. The ritual preparations were meticulous. Just as her mentor, the late Inquisitor Lord 2 Kait van Staal, had taught her. Satisfied with her preparations in the material world, Niobe turned her attention to her psychic senses and the immaterium 3. Her preparations in the material world had shaped the space around her into a bubble of calm potential.

Satisfied the Inquisitor turned her gaze, both material and immaterial, to the deck of bone coloured psychoactive crystal wafers that sat waiting on a low table of nalwood4. A faint white light emanated from them, viewable only to those with psychic potential. Niobe took a deep breath and cast her mind out into the void searching for the eddies of the Emperor’s purpose. In the material world, her lips mouthed the ritual prayers.

“Gracious Master. Guardian and Hope of Mankind. Hear the supplication of your humble servant.” In the faint light, her hands took up the crystal wafers and began to shuffle them. “Grant the gift of your wisdom.” Gently she drew one wafer and placed it faced down on the surface of the nalwood table near to the left edge. “Bless this device, marked with your Name and your visage. Part the darkness of the unknown.” Deft fingers plucked another wafer from the rest and placed it face down in the middle of the table. “Reveal your will, and grant clarity to your servant.” A third and final card was selected and placed in line with the others near to the right side of the table. “Ave Imperator.” With great care, Niobe placed the remaining wafers of the tarot deck on the table above the three selected card crossing her hands over her chest, making the sign of the Aquila. The solemn moment over, the Inquisitor re-established her personal wards against the immaterium and opened her eyes.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she turned the first card over. The surface resolved into an angelic figure, armoured and winged bearing a flaming sword in one hand and a staff topped with the Aquila in the other. The image, however, was reversed. Niobe frowned as the stain of blood slowly revealed itself on the gold and cream of its armor. As she turned over the second card, a swirling and churning mass of partially revealed colors resolved on the surface. Niobe gritted her teeth as clawed hands, and screaming faces reached out from the swirling mass before settling into immobility. Niobe turned over the last crystalline wafer. Upon the final card was displayed the fearsome image of an Imperator 5 Titan 6 , striding across a war-torn battlefield its weapons unleashing a torrent of energy into its foe; another Imperator Titan, this one twisted by the ruinous powers. All in all, the reading did not bode well. Niobe placed the cards back in the deck and then carefully wrapped the Emperor’s Tarot 7 in a soft red cloth then laid it back on the table for the moment.

What did it mean? Falsehoods and danger were apparent and not to be unexpected considering the risks associated with a Founding. The first two cards the Saint reversed, and the Immaterium was quite clear in that respect. What of the Imperator Titan though? Strength? Discipline? Conviction?

Reverently she placed the wrapped deck into a plain white jade box. Niobe sighed and slowly unfolded herself from the position and stretched her stiff muscles. She had been sitting in meditation for hours before attempting the reading. She picked up the box and carried it reverently in both hands as she released the seal on the door with her mind. Standing just outside the door waiting for her was Obadiah Ken, one of her oldest and most trusted servants. The man had served her adoptive mother and mentor, Kait van Staal, as her spymaster and friend. Now he attended her in the same capacity.

“Inquisitor.” He said in his soft velvety voice. “Did the reading bear fruit?”

“Of a kind,” she responded as she stepped past him. “I’m afraid that on the matter of this new Chapter we must be cautious…” she broke off, noticing that Obadiah was staring at something in the warded room.

“Madam…”

She turned and followed his gaze. Sitting on the nalwood table, directly in the center, was a single tarot card. A tall figure in gold power armour stood on the ramparts of the Imperial Palace on Terra, his long black cloak moving gently in the winds of war was displayed on its surface. In his right hand, he bore a Guardian Spear8 , the weapon of the Adeptus Custodes 9. In his left, a tall helm peaked with flowing black crest. “The Custodian?” she said, confused and disturbed not only by the presence of the card, but also by the imagery displayed upon it. She had not left any of the psychoactive crystal wafers on the table when she had returned the deck to its box.

Obadiah turned to look at his mistress. “Shall I summon the others?”

_###_

Though not as large as the _Umbra Rex_ , the _Reumate_ , was still a formidable ship for its size. Under the command of Captain Tiberius Amandale, the aging warship had served as the Inquisitor’s home and permanent base of operations. After thirty years of service to the Inquisitor, the command crew was considered inquisitorial staff and, as such, no longer active members of the Imperial Navy.

Niobe made her way from her apartments towards the stateroom that served as her private war room. Two hours earlier Obadiah had left her chambers to summon the various members of her retinue present on the ship. Her boots rang off the decking as she proceeded through the ship towards the stateroom.

As befitting its service, the Sword Class Frigate had benefited from the Inquisitor’s presence. Portions of the _Rumate_ were to be remodeled to fit the needs of the Inquisitor and her agents. The ship would become semi self-sufficient and it’s offensive and defensive capabilities would be increased. Crew decks that had once housed thousands would become manufacturing facilities populated with Tech-Priests and their servitors. Niobe smiled as she remembered Captain Amandale protests when she had ordered the changes to the ship’s interior.

Standing at his command lectern Captain Amandale had given voice to his dissatisfaction as the vessel made its way towards the shipyard where the refit was scheduled to begin. He was a tall, commanding figure with black hair and close-cropped beard salted with grey. “I will not stand idly by as you tear my ship apart from bow to stern Inquisitor.” Captain Amandale had said with calm professionalism. “Unless you wish to relieve me of duty, I am still the commander of this vessel, and as such I will be consulted on any circumstances regarding it.”

The Inquisitor had raised an eyebrow. “The _Reumate_ was seconded into my service at my request by Fleet Command and the Grand Admiral, Captain and even if it had not, Inquisitorial remit grants such authority to place this ship in my service.” She crossed her arms. “These changes are necessary if this vessel is to be of continued service.”

“Inquisitor van Staal,” Captain Amandale said respectfully. “I have been the Captain of this ship for sixty years and an Officer in the Emperor’s Navy for one hundred years more. The bones of the _Reumate_ are as much a part of me as my own. I have sailed her through cannon fire, solar storm, and the rolling mass of the immaterium. My confidence in this vessel stems from knowledge and experience and the steady hands of her crew. I do not demand this out of pride but out of necessity.”

Niobe regarded the Captain for a moment, feeling his sincerity and resolve emanating from him like a steady glow. She turned her gaze from the Captain to his First Officer, Commander Jeanette Shaw. The Commander stood tall, her fitted Naval uniform crisp and her blonde hair tucked under her cap. The glowing green augmetic that replaced her right eye whirred softly as the Officer returned her gaze. Pride emanated from Commander Shaw. Pride in her vessel, her Captain, and in her crew. Niobe turned to look at the bridge crew, all of them engaged in the task of running the sleek warship but listening to the discussion. The same pride she felt in Commander Shaw, was abundant in the crew of the Reumate. I have misstepped, the Inquisitor admitted to herself privately.

“Captain Amandale,” she had said evenly. “When the representatives of the Mechanicus arrive on board, you will be allowed to accompany me as we finalize the plans for the Reumate’s retrofit. I will assure that the Magos address any concerns you may possess satisfactorily, but in return, I expect that any protests you raise come from necessity and for no other reason.”

“Understood Inquisitor.” Captain Amandale had bowed his head, a slight smile on his face.

The meetings with the Mechanicus had gone well. Despite the Magos’ initial reluctance to explain their design decisions, Captain Amandale’s insight and experience with his vessel proved to be an asset. The retrofits to warship had exceeded her expectations as well as resulting in warming relations with the command crew. The Reumate, already a powerful warship, was now capable of standing against multiple enemies of its class and could even pose a severe threat to vessels of greater tonnage.

Now, years later the _Rumate_ was still her vessel. The secondment made permanent Grand Admiral Sinclair herself. Niobe’s retinue occasionally joked that the Admiral had done so merely to ensure that their beloved Inquisitor stayed out of her hair. They were probably right. She thought to herself. There was no love lost between the Inquisitor and the Grand Admiral; especially as the Grand Admiral believed that Niobe’s interference had lit the spark that began the system-wide conflict which would eventually consume the majority of the Capoia Sector. The Grand Admiral was not wrong.

As she made her way through the corridors of the _Ruma_ te, her thoughts turned to the events of the Nephi Crisis. The heretical corruption of Kepher Jainus, head of the Jainus Trade Consortium of Nephi Prime, had spread out from the planet via trade routes and the Consortium merchant ships. Where ever one of Jainus’ ships had made berth, a tendril of corruption had found purchase within the population. Agents trained by Kepher Jainus’ majordomo and spymaster, Evangine Kess, would arrive on a planet and then descend into the dark underbelly. They would work to become indistinguishable from the locals.

Eventually, these agents would make their way into positions of influence and trained others, begin the process of eroding confidence in the local Imperial representatives in preparation for their master’s gambit. For more than twenty years Kepher Jainus’ machinations proceeded uninhibited throughout the sector. Then, as a newly minted Inquisitor, Niobe van Staal stumbled upon a seemingly insignificant thread during a routine Inquisitorial inquest that the senior van Staal had sent her way.

She had pulled on that thread and had unraveled the curtain that had obscured the machinations of Jainus for decades. Niobe had tried to bring resolution to the situation herself and failed. Despite being a full Inquisitor, her relative inexperience had left her unprepared for the overwhelming prowess of Janus and his Inner circle. Niobe was captured, and the forces accompanying her killed. However in the final moments, before the merchant ship she had commandeered was destroyed, the Astropath onboard had been able to get a message out of the system. Inquisitor Lord Kait van Staal along with allied forces in the Imperial Navy and Guard had responded in force in the what would be the opening salvos of a sector-wide war. During that first Imperial Offensive, a mission that was lead by Kait van Staal herself, Niobe was rescued. The young Inquisitor would spend a year being debriefed and scrutinized before being allowed to return to her duties at her mentor’s side.

History would record that the Imperium of Man would rise from the ashes of the conflict victorious, but their losses would be high. Wide-scale destruction on a planetary scale, the deaths of billions of men and women both in the Imperial Forces but also amongst civilian populations would be the cost of tearing the heresy out by its roots. Loyalist Adeptus Astartes would be called upon to engage their traitorous brethren as well as the daemonic servants of the ruinous powers, suffering appalling losses but ultimately driving them back from where they came.

Slowly, the forces of the Imperium took back world after world until only the Nephi system remained in the hands of the traitor and the heretic. So deeply rooted was the corruption the Imperial forces were unable to determine friend from foe and thus the entire populations of Nephi Secundus and Tertiary burned in a cleansing fire. All that remained was the scouring of Nephi Prime. Some, like the Grand Admiral, had suggested that the planet declared exterminatus10 and scoured utterly of life. Others suggested that the threat would only be ended when Kepher Janius’ lifeless corpse lay before the Inquisitors. There was no question in the minds of both Inquisitors which course of action to undertake. While the forces of the Imperium eliminated Nephi Prime’s defenses, the Inquisitor Lord teleported down into Kepher Janius’ palace, along with a squad of Tempestors Space Marines. The Inquisitors battered their way through mutant and warp-spawn until they stood within Janius’ throne room. The Inquisitor Lord faced Kepher Janius himself while the Tempestors and Niobe dealt with Janius’ Inner Circle and Evangine Kess.

Bolstered by the powers of the Ruinous Powers, the heretics proved troublesome. Black sorceries tore great chunks of masonry from the walls and columns, and multihued flames scorched priceless tapestries, leaving greasy smears of carbon on the floor and ceiling. The Tempestor Space Marines fought hand to hand against the daemon enhanced speed and strength of the Inner Council members. Transhuman blood mixed with the corrupted blood and fluids of the heretics as the Space Marines slowly turned the tide in their favor.

Niobe, for her part, had her hands full with Janius’ Majordomo Evangine Kess. A lethal combatant even before she gave herself over to chaos, now that she had received their blessings she was nigh unstoppable. The Inquisitor had needed every ounce of her physical and psychic might just to remain standing. She began to suspect that the Majordomo was toying with her. Niobe was tiring rapidly and knew she’d be unable to continue to hold her own against Kess at this rate. Inevitably, Kess would break through her defenses and pull her apart piece by piece. Niobe did the only thing she could; she played on Kess’ confidence and hubris, trying to draw her in. She allowed her defenses to begin crumbling, taking increasingly more serious wounds as Kess whirled and spun around her in a deadly dance of steel. The venom on her enemies weapons lanced agony through Niobe’s flesh with every strike.

Feigning complete exhaustion, Niobe dropped her guard completely and prepared for the moment when Kess would strike. Later, she would claim that in her exhaustion she witnessed a moment of precognition. Niobe saw the cock-sure movement and exhilarated grin moments before Kess began to move towards her. As if she were an afterimage, the real Evangine Kess moved just as she had in the vision. Seeing how the Majordomo would strike, Niobe used the last of her strength to turn the blow. She countered, driving her force sword deeply through Kess’ sternum; severing the corrupted Majordomo’s heart and spine. As darkness started crowding her vision from the many wounds she had suffered, Niobe realized that she had no idea how her mentor fared in her battle with Kepher Janius.

When she awoke, it was in the Apothecarium of the Tempestors’ Battle Barge11. The Inquisitor Lord’s Spymaster, Obadiah Ken, stood beside her looking at the monitors connected to the medical slab she lay on. She could sense his sorrow and worry. At that moment, Niobe knew that Kait van Staal had fallen on the battlefield never to rise. When Obadiah realized she was conscious, he took her hand and squeezed it gently.

The ground shook slightly as an Apothecary approached the medical slab. A moment later cooling sensations flooded through her veins; easing her pain. Just before she lost consciousness she could hear the deep baritone of the Apothecary telling the spymaster that despite the seriousness of her wounds, she would survive; albeit with some cybernetic and regenerative work. Recovery would take a great deal of time. After she her transfer to the _Rumate_ and her health was on the mend, Obadiah told her how Kait had died.

The psychic battle between them had been titanic, leaving wide cracks in the foundations of Jainus’ palace. Overwhelming Kepher Jainus’ defenses and dealing the death blow had cost the Inquisitor Lord her life but not right away. The surviving marines had collected Jainus’ remains along with both Inquisitors and brought them to their Battle Barge. Kait van Staal heart had stopped twice on the Thunderhawk12 as it blasted back into the void and the Battle Barge. When her heart failed a third time, even the skills of the Apothecaries had been unable to revive her. As her adopted daughter, Niobe inherited everything from property and coin to those inquisitorial agents who wished to remain in service. Some had elected to be released citing that the Inquisitor Lord’s death constituted an end of service. Some, like Obadiah, chose to pledge themselves to Niobe.

Her recollections having run their course, Niobe found herself approaching her war room. Just down the hall, she could see Feodor Tspesh, a senior member of her retinue and former commissar13 , leaning against the wall to the right of the door of the stateroom that now doubled as her war room. His black leather storm coat no longer bore the symbols of the Commissariat 14 . His eyes were lost in thought as he smoked a thin cherrot, a cup of recaff 15 in his hand. As she approached he looked up and smiled slightly. “Niobe,” He said by way of greeting. “Everyone who can be here is.”

“Good.” She nodded at the cup of recaff. “Any left inside?”

Feodor stood up straight and nodded. “Should be,” he said as he moved to open the door. “Made a fresh pot just before you arrived.”

“You’re a lifesaver Feo.” Niobe said as she entered the room.

The former commissar smiled wryly as he followed the Inquisitor into the room, closing the door behind him. “That’s what got me into this mess in the first place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Humors: One of the elemental body fluids that were the basis of the physiologic and pathologic teachings of the Hippocratic school: blood, yellow bile, black bile, and phlegm.  
> 2\. Inquisitor Lord: Also known as Lord Inquisitor. These individuals are powerful and influential, commanding many lesser Inquisitors and having authority over large portions of the Imperium.  
> 3\. The Immaterium: Also known as the warp, it is an alternate dimension of purely psychic energy that echoes and underlies the familiar four dimensions of the material universe.  
> 4\. Nalwood: A rare wood from the now destroyed planet of Tanith. Said to have psycho reactive properties.  
> 5\. Imperator Titan: the largest and most powerful variant of Emperor Titan ever deployed by the Titan Legions of the Adeptus Mechanicus. It is literally a walking fortress.  
> 6\. Titan: A Titan is any one of several classes of massive, crewed, robotic bipedal combat walkers.  
> 7\. Emperor’s Tarot: A pack of 78 psychoactive liquid-crystal wafers that is believed to be linked to the psyche of the Emperor of Mankind in the Warp and used for divination.  
> 8\. Guardian Spear: The customary weapon of the Adeptus Custodes. Its design is similar to a power weapon version of the halberd with an integrated advanced bolter.  
> 9\. Adeptus Custodes: The transhuman bodyguard of the Emperor. They are created in much the same fashion of the Astartes but it is said their gene-seed comes from the Emperor himself. Rarely seen outside the Imperial Palace on Terra since the Horus Heresy.  
> 10\. Exterminatus: A terrible order in High Gothic given by the highest authorities of the Imperium of Man to destroy an entire planetary biosphere and all life upon a world. This order is only given as a last resort.  
> 11\. Battle Barge: The largest class of warship used by the Adeptus Astartes and most Space Marine Chapters control two or three of these potent vessels. The term “Battle Barge” does not refer to a single designation or class of warship as such, but rather is a title given to any variant or retrofit of Battleship class hull modified and optimized for use by the Adeptus Astartes.  
> 12\. Thunderhawk: A gunship in the service of the Adeptus Astartes as a primary means for transporting troops and air support. The Thunderhawk is capable of trans-atmospheric flight.  
> 13\. Commissar: A political officer of the elite Officio Prefectus who serves in the regiments of the Astra Militarum or aboard the voidships of the Imperial Navy. Commissars are tasked with the duty to maintain the morale of the troops during their massive campaigns, often in the face of staggering casualties.  
> 14\. Commissariat: Also known as the Officio Prefectus, it is a subdivision of the Departmento Munitorum, whose task is to ensure the recruitment, training, and deployment of the corps of Commissars.  
> 15\. Recaff: A hot and highly caffeinated drink similar to coffee.


	5. The Long Road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a much shorter chapter than the others. Didn't want to drag it out just to fill space.

The inside of the former stateroom on the _Rumate_ was no longer as lushly appointed as it once was. Niobe had ordered that the accouterments of the modern Imperial war room installed in the place of finery. Baroque couches, overstuffed lounge chairs, hand-carved tables, expensive holo-paintings in gilded frames were all removed from the common room and replaced with hard wearing furnishings made of heavy grox 1 skin or hardwoods and plasteel. Additional layers of plasteel now lined the walls beneath a faux surface. The elegant furnishings that had once graced the room had been redistributed to other cabins on the deck re-designated for guests, not that the voidship had many guests at all. In their place, a large holo-station and projection system dominated one corner in the main room, and a simple food preparation area now resided the corner opposite. Oversized situation monitors now covered most of the wall space of the common room. A large plotting screen dominated the entirety of one of the walls, displaying the _Rumate’s_ current location at the Volos shipyards.

Three of the bedroom suites adjacent to the common room had been converted into storage areas. One of the suites had been reinforced with additional plasteel and turned into a small armoury. Various types of weapons, ammunition, and body armour lined the interior walls of the room. Work tables bolted to the deck stood in two rows the center of the room, a few had equipment bolted to their surface. Another of the converted rooms had rows of cabinets filling the interior. The last of the three repurposed cabins, the nearest to the corner with the food preparation area, consisted of a pantry and refrigeration until. The remaining bedroom suites had been stripped of their original furnishings and replaced with rows of crew bunks. The Inquisitor’s war room’s redesign converted the space into an active secondary command center, and barracks within the _Rumate_ should the need arise.

As Niobe entered the room, her Throne Agents2 stopped what they were doing and looked at her expectantly. Obadiah stepped forward and handed his mistress a cup of recaff. The Inquisitor raised the cup to her Spymaster in thanks before taking a swallow of the hot, pungent, liquid. She took in the group assembled before her over the rim of the cup of recaff. Including Obadiah, Feodor, and herself there were five others gathered in the room. “This everyone?” Niobe asked.

Obadiah nodded once. “Yes, Mistress,” he said. “The remainder of your Agents are currently unavailable, their tasks making it difficult for them to return to the ship.”

“So be it, then.” The Inquisitor set down the cup of recaff and looked at her Agent’s expectant faces. Captain Amandale, resplendent in his Navy cut uniform sat beside Jenyfyr Neros, Niobe’s sole Interrogator. Her short cropped, puck’s blond hair, large violet eyes, and small stature made her seem almost child-like but like her mistress, Neros possed prodigious psychic power and more than her fair share of combat experience. She had been a member of the Adeptus Arbites3 before her latent power blossomed into full force during a series of riots in the Capital of Vesperia. Niobe, who had been on the planet investigating the source of the disturbances managed to intervene and like her mentor before her, took the new psyker under her tutelage. Sitting around one of the tables in the room were the remaining three agents under Niobe’s employee.

Niobe glanced at the three unlikely companions. The first, a former Gaurd Sharpshooter named Hieronymus Dugg, was a quiet man with an easy smile and light cocoa skin. His left eye sported a high-powered targeting augmetic that he usually covered with a scrap of cloth, stained with his blood, the faded symbol of the Aquila barely visible through the stain and age. Like many Guardsman before him, Dugg had been part of a unit seconded to the Inquisitor during a particularly dangerous mission. His skill with the Long-las4provided covering fire for the Inquisitor and her agents; buying them time for extraction when they had been pinned down. The Imperial reinforcements had found him, near to death, the barrel of his Long-las melted, his left eye a ragged hole, and the kill zone filled with the bodies of the enemy. By dint of his skill and sacrifice, Hieronymus Dugg had been offered a place amongst the Inquisitor’s agents and had remained with her since.

Dressed in rust red robes and sitting in the chair to the right next to Dugg, mecadendrite dangling inside a steaming cup of recaff to stir it, the tech-priest that the majority of Niobe’s agents knew as Calamity. Though not precisely considered a heretic in Mars view, Calamity’s creations regularly pushed the line of what considered allowable under the Edicts of the Cult Mechanicus. She had caught the Inquisitor’s interest while investigating reports that the forces of the enemy had corrupted the upper echelons of Forgeworld5 Maledae. Alone and in the darkness of the bowels of the planet, Calamity had been faithful to her name, slowing the delivery of the arms and ammunition to the enemy by causing as much damage as she could. After a harrowing stand-off between Calamity and her gun servitors and the Inquisitor’s forces, the two groups had joined forces, successfully removing the corrupted Magos and his underlings. Mars, however, had not looked kindly on her destructive desecration and so had offered her services to the Inquisitor.

The final member of the unlikely trio was Abd al-Da’ud, a brilliant medicae who had shown great promise early in his career. Then tragedy befell the inhabitants of the planet of Socotra, where Abd and his sister Anisa lived and worked. A terrible plague, seeded among the Floating Gardens of Socotra by agents of the Death Guard6, bore horrible fruit. Anisa, who worked in the Gardens, was among the first of the victims of the disease. Abd worked tirelessly attempting to halt the progress of the infections all the while watching the disease progress in his sister’s flesh. Miraculously, Abd was able to synthesize a compound that, if applied soon enough, would inoculate against the disease. In the end, though, the vaccine came too late for Anisa and over ninety-eight percent of the population. The Inquisitor had no choice, Socotra and her people would burn under the Exterminatus. Though she could not save Socotra, Niobe did save Abd. He had served as her medicae since.

Niobe nodded to each of her people in turn. “Greetings all,” she said warmly. She made a face and looked into her cup. “Good to know that Feodor can still make a decent cup of recaff.” The former commissioner raised his cup in a mock salute. Niobe drained the rest of the recaff in her cup in response and held it out. The others laughed, Feodor was known to make the best recaff out of all of them.

“What’s this about Ma’am?” Dugg asked as Obadiah took the cup from her. “Does the Emperor, bless his name, have a new duty for us?”

Niobe shook her head. “Not as such, no.” She looked at Jenyfyr. “I have drawn the Emperor’s Tarot. Interrogator, tell me, what does the Saint Reversed, the Immaterium, and the Titan mean?”

Jenyfyr sat for a moment before replying. “That falsehoods and trickery have laid the groundwork in regards to what you were divining and that there will be a time of great danger.” the Interrogator frowned. “However, strength and conviction might still win the day despite the ignoble beginning.”

The Inquisitor nodded. “Good. Now, what of the Adeptus Custodes drawn in succession to the other three?” Niobe asked looking into the face of her Acolyte7.

Confusion passed over the Interrogator’s face. It was unusual for a fourth card to be present during the type of divination that her Inquisitor favored. “I would say that if the path is adhered to, regardless of what came before, then the locus might serve a greater purpose than it’s origins would imply.”

“Excellent, Interrogator.” Niobe was proud of her Acolyte’s progress; she had joined the Retinue only five years before.

Jenyfyr Neros’ frown deepened. “That’s a big if though,” she said musing. “The Saint Reversed and the Immaterium both in the first two positions imply great darkness lies in failure.”

“If I might ask Mistress,” Abd said, and all eyes turned to him. “What was the focus of the divination?”

“I petitioned the Emperor to show me the outcome of this Founding Abd,” Niobe replied simply.

Captain Amandale sat back on the grox leather couch he shared with the Interrogator. “Surely, the Founding is not doomed to failure Inquisitor.”

Obadiah was the one to respond. “Doomed Captain, no. Not that. While the Emperor’s Tarot is a powerful tool in the arsenal of someone like Niobe or Jenyfyr, they are always up to interpretation. Additionally, not every divination comes to pass. The future is not written in stone.”

“What our venerable Spymaster says is true,” Niobe confirmed. “The mysteries of the future are not so simple to divine that one can simply draw cards and say: ‘So Shall It Be.'”

“The future,” Calamity whispered in her singsong mechanical voice. “Is ever mutable. One moment the path lays before you solid as a Baneblade8, the next it is as mercurial as mercury itself.”

“Good to know,” Feodor said, placing his now empty cup of recaff down on the table. “What now?”

Niobe looked at her agents assembled before her; a chill ran up her spine as it did for every mission since Nephi. “Now, we get to work. Prepare for a long mission; Space Marine Chapters are not Founded in a day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Grox: A large aggressive reptilian animal prized not only for its ability to survive in almost any environment and eat almost anything but also because their meat is extremely nutritious.  
> 2\. Throne Agent: An individual who has served the Inquisition for many years.  Some go one to become Interrogators.  
> 3\. Adeptus Arbites: Also known as Arbitors, they are the police force of the Imperium often serving as judge, jury, and executioner of Imperial citizens.  
> 4\. Long-las: A modified variant of the standard issue Lasgun with a strengthened longer and thinner barrel for more accurate long-range strikes. Utilizes an overcharged power pack called a “hot-shot” that inflicts lethal shots but at a significantly reduced capacity.  A Sniper’s weapon  
> 5\. Forgeworld: A planet ruled by the Adeptus Mechanicus and given over wholly to the pursuits of the Mecanicus. The surface of many of these planets are covered by manufacturing facilities, the majority of its populations spending their entire lives working in factories and laborers.  
> 6\. The Death Guard:  Formerly the First Founding XIV Legion, these Traitor Space Marines now serve the Chaos god Nurgle; Lord of Disease, Death, Decay, and Destruction.  
> 7\. Acolyte: A member of the Imperium who works as part of an Inquisitor’s retinue.  Usually, one who has only been doing so for a relatively short time.  
> 8\. Baneblade: Less of a tank and more a mobile fortress, the Baneblade is one of the largest and oldest armoured fighting vehicle in the Imperial armed forces


	6. Potentials

At the edge of the Volos system, at the Mandeville Point1, a rupture of roiling color began forming as the prow of a voidship tore its way into real space. Sheets of lighting flared off of the ablative armour plating as it cleared the event horizon of the hole in the material universe. The voidship was not alone, and more rips in reality formed as two other voidships exited the immaterium. The first vessel, a Mechanicus warship called the  _Luminus Correspondance_ , carried a very special cargo. Deep within the holds of the Mechanicus ship, the neophytes of the nascent Chapter were slowly coming out of cryostasis.

Three hundred potentials had been gathered from various locations throughout the Imperium based on their genetic compatibility. It would be up to the Ghoststalkers to separate the wheat from the chaff and determine which of the three hundred would be worthy of elevation as a Space Marine. Of the three hundred arriving on the _Luminous Correspondence_. Shadow Captain Huuen was expecting four to five full squads worth of Scout Marines. Training an entire Chapter of a thousand battle-brothers would take time and no small amount of effort on the part of the 3rd Company, but it was an honour few ever had the opportunity to experience.

The Magos Biologis responsible for the three hundred youths had begun the procedure just after the ship had cleared the Mandeville Point at the edge of the Volos system. System monitor ships, waiting at the point to ensure the translating fleet was safe from ambush, formed up to escort the  _Luminous Correspondence_  and its support fleet into the space of the shipyards three days away. Great pains had been taken to ensure that the neophytes would arrive into the hands of the Raven Guard 3rd Company securely.

Deep within the bowels of the ship, Seag slowly opened his eyes. The dim light around him made them sore. He turned his head to the right; in the dim light, he could see another youth lying on a metal bier. The figure was wearing a dark coloured article of clothing that cover him leaving his hands and head uncovered. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, indicating that he was alive. Seag slowly sat up despite the protesting of his muscles. He examined his arms and legs and discovered that he too was wearing the strange piece of clothing. He grabbed the material sheathing his forearm and pulled at it, watching it stretch slightly only to have it return to shape when he released it.

As he was examining the odd attached foot covering, where the hallux was sheathed separately from the rest, a soft whirring sound and the feeling of being watched caught his attention. He turned his head slightly; in the distance, a human skull, illuminated by the burning light in its right eye, floated towards him above the ranks of prone youths. The glow from within the eye socket gave it the appearance of being coated in blood in the dimness. Lank tendrils of hair floated in the air behind it. Seag growled nervously at the sight and slid off the slab, attempting to put it between him and the floating skull. His people had tales of the wights, blood-drenched disembodied heads of cowardly men and women cursed to float on the hell-winds, forever hunting for the hearts blood of those foolish enough to venture out into the burning winds.

As it came close in the dim light, he could see that it was not hair but wires, cables, and tendrils of flexible metal that gave it the appearance of having hair. Nor was the skull covered in blood, the light emanating from its eye socket illuminated it from within.  _So, not a wight_. He thought although the realization was of no comfort. Saeg lowered himself further, getting as close to the floor and shadows as he could. His people had considered him quite skilled at concealment and even at his young age been tasked with scouting and hunting prey to feed the village. He would use those skills now, and attempt to move without being detected. Lowering himself to all fours, he reached out with one limb, then the other, his chest barely above the floor. Once fully behind the neighboring slab, he risked a look around its corner.

The skull came to rest above the slab that Saeg had first awoken on. The glow from its eye changed into a cone of red light that passed across the surface. It hovered there for a moment, metal tendrils moving against the slight current of air in the room before it slowly rotated until it was facing the slab that Saeg had hidden behind. He tried to melt into the shadows around the slab and withdrew back behind the corner. The floating skull maneuvered itself towards the bier until it hovered above the youth. Once it had stopped, the cone of red light flashed out and ran the length of the body. Seag held his breath; he could hear minute clicks and blips as the beam moved back and forth. His blood pounded in his ears as his heart raced.

Suddenly, the cone of light and the sounds ceased, and the dim light and silence of the chamber reasserted itself. Saeg risked another glance around the corner of the bier he had been hiding behind. The floating skull had vanished from sight. Cautiously, despite the feeling of being watched still, he stood and glanced around but saw nothing.

Suddenly, there was a sharp prick in the back of his neck and the rush of a cold sensation that flowed from his neck into the rest of his body. Saeg’s knees began to tremble, the sudden effort of remaining standing making his body shake. He tried to turn, his muscles rapidly refusing to obey his commands, he began to slide to the floor. Hovering above and behind where he stood was the floating skull, the red light of its eye starting to glow again. As his vision began to darken Saeg realized that one of the tendrils terminated with a needle. With that realization, he knew no more.

_###_

When Seag awoke, he found himself lying on a thin cot in a small room. The room had little for amenities, just a cold water basin, and a lavatory. A strip of light ran down the center of the ceiling illuminating the small space. The youth sat up and rubbed his neck. A small patch near the base was sore for some reason.  _What in the three hells is going on?_  Saeg wondered as he looked down at the odd form-fitting blue-black article of clothing he wore. He felt like he should know;  he should remember what he was doing in this cramped room only the answer escaped him. Standing he walked to the door of the room and tried the handle. When it didn’t budge, he took the handle in both hands and pulled as hard as he could. The door might as well have been part of the walls for how little give there was.

Saeg was tempted to slam his fist against the door in an expression of frustration and anger. Lashing out would accomplish little. Better to swallow that frustration and use it to stoke the embers of rage. If the possibility of escape should present itself, the emotion would better serve him then. Instead, he approached the water basin and nudged the handle to the open position, letting the cold water flow over his hands. He cupped his hands and brought them to his lips; the water tasted slightly metallic but good. Discovering a thirst he didn’t realize he had, Saeg drank a few more handfuls of water before splashing some on his face.

He sat back down on the cot and frowned. His internal body rhythms implied that he had been subjected to medicine or sedatives that had left his mind dulled and his muscles sore, but he couldn’t remember anything like that happening.

One of his most recent memories, that of his family bidding him farewell as he and other young men from his village prepared to make the trek to the City of Phalensthar2to face the  Trials3. The memory was a vivid one. Many of the young men that participate in the Trials return to their villages. Not all of them had made it to Phalensthar, let alone survive the Trials themselves.

The journey through the forests of his world was one fraught with dangers. Counted among them were the beasts of the forest; capable of shredding a man’s flesh with claw or tooth. Many of them, like the Ur-Drakon4, were solitary creatures that avoided large groups of men unless hungry or driven to frenzy by pain. Others, like the venomous Nagapios5, hunted in groups but were only really dangerous to the unwary and foolish. The most dangerous threat in the forest was the Bor’az6; tribes of men who had turned their eyes from the Emperor’s Light. They lived like animals and ate the flesh of the dead.

Three nights into the journey to Phalensthar, a large group of Bor’az attacked the encampment. The came silently and with great lethality. Of the twenty youths that Seag had accompanied, only eight survived the night. The fighting had been fierce and bloody. His spear hs reaped the lives of at least four of the Bor’az before the cannibals had fled, taking the bodies of the dead with them. When the sun had risen, the floor of the clearing was streaked with blood and bits of torn flesh. There was nothing they could do except bind their wounds and continue. The survivors gathered their belongings and those of the dead that would be useful. They abandoned anything they couldn’t carry.

Two sleepless days later, they arrived in Phalensthar. The guards at the gates questioned them, seemingly oblivious to their exhausted and wounded state. “Where do you hail from?” One of them had asked.

“Hevensdown, north beyond the forest of Itha.” Saeg had responded, now the eldest of his companions.

The guard had grunted, just then seeming to notice their wounds, torn clothing, and exhausted faces. “Do you intend to enter the Trials then, youth?” The eight of them had nodded in response.

The other guard had raised an eyebrow. “If a journey of seven-day leaves you worse for wear, boys, you’ll not survive the Trials.”

Threce had snarled in response. “We were set upon by Bor’az two-day past! They reaped the dead. Near a dozen of ours, at least as many of them!” He crossed his arms in defiance.

“Bor’az you say?” The first guard had asked, a bit more respectfully. “Two-day past?” The guards exchanged glances. “You’re lucky any of you still draw breath.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The Trails have already begun,” The guard had smiled at the look on their faces. “Fear not brave Bor’az killers, there is plenty of time to enter and die in the Labyrinth.”

He was awakened from his reverie by the sound of a klaxon ringing twice. A voice rang through the room and echoed oddly. “Greetings potentials. Five minutes from now, your cell doors will be unlocked. You will proceed to embarkation deck epsilon without issue. Those who fail to follow these directives will face censure. Once situated on the embarkation deck, you will arrange yourselves as instructed. Skitarii7  warriors will observe and direct you. Follow their directives or you will face censure. So ends this message. Glory to the Omnissiah! Glory to the Emperor!”

Seag leaned his head back against the cold wall and looked up at the ceiling. Hevensdown seemed like only yesterday, but he knew that he had slept away days if not weeks within the cryo-chambers of the Mechanicum. Cryo-chamber, Mechanicum, his mind caught at those words. He knew them. Knew what they meant despite having never heard them spoken before. How did he learn them?

Seag thought back to the moment when he had climbed into the cryo-chamber. He remembered the tech-priests, another unfamiliar term, placing a metal crown on his head and attaching wires to different points on his body before the chamber was sealed. The rumor existed of the miracles of the Emporer’s servants. Could his newfound knowledge be one of them?

There was a loud click from the cell door, and the voice from earlier once again began to speak. “Potentials, the seals to your door are now unlocked. Leave your cell and proceed to embarkation deck epsilon in an orderly manner. Failure to obey will result in censure. Upon arrival at the embarkation deck, arrange yourselves as instructed. Failure to obey will result in censure. So ends this message. Glory to the Omnissiah! Glory to the Emperor!” Seag pushed the door open and stepped out into the corridor.

A long line of youths moved slowly towards the unknown destination of Embarkation Deck Epsilon. Another potential, with golden hair spun in tight curls close to his head, paused for a moment to let Seag join the line. The youth gave a brief nod in greeting, which Saeg returned as he stepped into line.

As soon as he joined the line, he noticed that along the corridor, interspersed in regular intervals on either side stood what Seag assumed were men. These must be the Skitarii, Seag thought. All wore long hooded overcoats made of some stiff red material. Bronzed armored plates covered their torsos, legs, and forearms in interlocking segments.

Beneath the hood, the face of each he passed was hidden behind some mask or faceplate made of burnished bronze. The lens construction was rounded green glass that glowed with barely visible light from within. The mouth area jutted out slightly like a canine’s muzzle. Thick cabling ran from either side of the mouthpiece to connect to something beneath the hood. The Skitarii were all armed with a heavy rifle type weapon of a type he had never seen before. The Skitarii looked formidable and, Seag admitted to himself, intimidating.

The line of youths continued through corridor after corridor. The entire procession monitored by the Skitarii. As they walked, Saeg slowly began to realize the size of the vessel he was in. They had been walking for nearly three-quarters of an hour and still had not reached their destination. Everywhere he looked cables, and conduits lined the walls along with the occasional cog shaped symbol with a human skull icon in the center. The center icon was formed of an unusual design. One half appeared to be made of bone, the other half a machine construct made to look like the human skull.

As they approached a corner, a shower of sparks showered the youths in front of him causing them to step back in surprise. A few of their faces registered shock and fear. Saeg wondered what could cause them to react that way. As he approached the corner, the sparks continued to shower down, and as he passed, he could see that they came from a small alcove inset into the corridor wall. Under the glow of a welding unit, he saw what caused the others to react the way they did.

In the alcove stood a man, or what appeared to have once been a man. The lower portion of the figure, just above where the hips would be had been replaced with a tracked motive unit. What flesh was visible was greyed as if suffering from lack of circulation. The left arm ended in a pincer-like vice which was holding a massive piece of conduit above a head crested with wires and cables that sunk into the flesh. It’s right arm ended in what appeared to be a welding unit that showered the figure in sparks as it welded the conduit to an existing piece. The welding unit was connected by a thick hose that ran to a large tank on the creature’s back that was fused to the skin.

“Sweet Emperor,” Seag whispered in horror and stumbled slightly at the site. The figure turned its head towards the sound.; it’s head a ruined mass of old sutures and strange mechanical devices. A faint green light emanated from the green glass where an eye should be for a moment before it turned it’s attention back to its work.

The curly haired youth behind him responded. “It’s a servitor. Never seen one of their ilk before?”

Seag risked looking over his shoulder at the youth. “No. Never.” He caught one of the Skitarii turn its head towards him and faced forward again.

“Emperor willing, it won’t be your last.” The curly haired potential whispered from behind him as they continued towards Embarkation Deck Epsilon and an uncertain future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Mandeville Point: The closest distance that a voidship can enter or leave a star system safely.  
> 2\. City of Phalensthar: The only city in the Northern Continent of Cimura with the facility for space transport.  
> 3\. The Trials: A test of skill and worthiness for selection into the Adeptus Astartes. The Trials are administered in an underground facility called the Labyrinth.  
> 4\. Ur-Drakon: Furred amalgamations of the Terran Grizzly and the Dragon of legend.  
> 5\. Nagapios: Tree dwelling Lemer-like carnivores with razor-sharp claws, and a paralyzing venom injected via a bite.Two or three bites are required to completely paralyze a fully grown human. Skittish and afraid of fire.  
> 6\. Bor’az: The Bor’az are descended from the original settlers whose colony ships suffered catastrophic failure in the early years of Cimura’s settlement. Many of the original planet’s fauna and flora is inedible. As such, the Bor’az turned to cannibalism to supplement their food supply.  
> 7\. Skitarii: The cybernetic military forces of the Adeptus Mechanicus.


	7. Embarkation Deck Epsilon

After another forty-five minutes, the portion of the line that Saeg was a member of reached Embarkation Deck Epsilon. The interior was massive. From his place near the entrance to the deck, he could barely see the far end where what appeared to be a massive blast door stood sealed. Everywhere he looked, his vision was filled with things he had never seen before. Great cables ran across the deck, connecting to many different aircraft and equipment haulers. The Skitarri were directing the youths to stand arranged in groups ten individuals long by five individuals deep. The front rows were positioned so that they faced a massive aircraft unlike any of the others organized on the deck.

The aircraft was as black as the empty void of space with thick armour plates, massive engines, and multiple heavy weapons that currently rested in an inactive state. On the side facing the potentials were the device of a stylistic bird in white. Saeg recognized it as the symbol of the Raven Guard Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes. Arrayed on either side of the Chapter heraldry stood four Astartes.

Each stood fully armed and armoured in massive black plate towering over all but the largest of the Skitarii. Three of the four stood with their helms removed and held in the crook of their arms or locked to their waist. Each of the Astartes had black hair, ebony-colored eyes, and war-weathered skin as pale as ivory. The fourth still wore his helm, and looking upon its visage left Saeg feeling cold. From beneath the cowl of a heavy hooded black robe, the grinning face of a human skull glared. Only the slight glow of red lenses and cunningly wrought cabling gave away the fact that it was a helm and not the face of a specter that looked out at the potentials. The Raven Guard Astartes watched the potentials file in without interest.

When all three hundred of the potentials had arrived and stood arrayed before the Astartes one of the four warriors stepped forward. Of the four Astartes, his armour carried the most artistic embellishments in the form of bird skulls, parchment affixed with wax seals, and silver inlays detailing the Imperialis1 adorning his plastron2 The stylistic white raven icon on his shoulder guard was an embossed piece rather than painted on the right pauldron3. The gauntlets of his armour were white and significantly greater than his fellows. From his position in the second row of the group directly in front of the Astartes, Saeg could see that the thumbs of the gauntlets were slightly curved like claws and the back of the first had four slotted areas adorned with bird skulls where each knuckle would be. A cloak of black feathers hung over his right shoulder obscuring the pauldron beneath and was fastened to his armor by silver bird skulls.

“I am Shadow Captain Dominic Huuen of the Third Company of the Raven Guard Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.” He said as he cast his gaze across the three hundred arrayed before him. “Beside me stand Epistolary Enoc Zar of the Librarius4, Master Apothecary Serya Hess of the Apothecarion5, and Chaplain Orhan Pelic of the Reclusium6.”

Enoc Zar stepped forward; he wore black armour like his brethren. However, a strange metal hood adorned his armour rising above his head from the rear. Like the Captain, the left pauldron of his armour bore and embossed white raven symbol, and his armour was adorned with bird skulls and parchment affixed with waxen seals. His left pauldron sported an embossed book with a horned skull resting upon its opened pages. Behind the book and skull device, the pauldron was a deep blue color. A battered book was bound to at the waist with thick links of chain that rattled against his armour when he moved. On his other hip were the tooled scabbard and winged hilt of a massive sword. “I am Epistolary Enoc Zar,” He said. “It will be my duty, and that of the Librarians of the third to ensure that your souls remain free from the taint of chaos. We shall judge which of you are pure enough to be elevated to Astartes.” The energy of the crowd of potentials became excited at the mention of elevation to the ranks of the Astartes.

“I am Master Apothecary Serya Hess,” The next Astartes in the line stepped forward. “I shall monitor your physical progress,” Saeg noted that while the Master Apothecary’s armour was similar to his Captain, like the Librarian before him, the right pauldron bore a different design and colour. The device was that of an interwoven single column lattice the color of freshly spilled blood on a white background. His left gauntlet was surrounded by all manner of drills, blades, and needle-like protuberances; it too bore the strange lattice design. “Ensuring that, for those who survive, they remain hail during implantation and elevation to Astartes.” Many of the potentials looked at one another at the mention of survival. The curly haired youth who had been behind Saeg muttered something to himself, frowning.

The final Astartes, the one wearing the skull-faced mask stepped forward. “Silence!” He roared, amplifiers in his helm turning his voice into a physical blow. The potentials all froze, all manner of whispering and murmuring stopped. For a moment, it seemed like even the machines on the embarkation deck ceased. The skull shaped helm raked its gaze across the gathered potentials. “I am Chaplain Orhan Pelic of the Reclusiam.” He continued in a powerful voice. “It falls to me to judge the worthiness of your souls, the strength of your will, and depth of your loyalty to the Emperor and your Chapter. Waiver but a little and be denied entry into the Brotherhood of the Astartes.”

“You will be tested, and you will be judged.” Shadow Captain Huuen said. “You are the first of the potentials to stand before us. The first who have been blessed with this opportunity to not only join the Legiones Astartes but to be at the forefront of a new and glorious Chapter.” As the Captain paused and looked out amongst the crowd, Saeg felt pride fill him.” Brother-Sergeants step forward!” In response to the Captain’s orders, six more Astartes stepped from the shadows beneath the aircraft’s wings. All wore the black armour of the Raven Guard with the white symbol of the Chapter painted on their left pauldrons. The right pauldron bore a numerical signifier with the first in the line displaying the numeral I and the last bearing the numerals VI.

Servitors began moving up and down the rows, clamping a cuff of black metal on the wrists of the potentials. Saeg looked down and saw the numerals III etched into the metal cuff clamped around his left wrist. “Potentials,” The Captain addressed the gathered youths one last time. “You will be divided into groups of fifty or a wing. Each wing of Potentials will be under the command by one of the Sergeants standing before you. You will follow your Sergeant to one of the waiting transports. These transports will bring you to different locations on Volos Secondus, one of the planets in this system. There you will live and hone yourselves into individuals worthy of elevation or else die in the attempt.” At some unseen signal, the Sergeants took the position in front of their wing of potentials. “Demonstrate to us that you are worthy. Dismissed!”

There was surprisingly little confusion as the potentials fell in behind their assigned Sergeants. Each wing proceeded in single file to the transports arranged around the deck. The air became filled with the hot scent of engine exhaust, and the whine of turbines as the transports prepared to leave the ship. Saeg found himself sitting beside the curly-haired youth from earlier. “I am Ashur.”

Saeg nodded in the way of greeting. “I am Saeg.” He responded.

“Greetings be upon you Saeg.” Ashur smiled. He looked like he was about to say more but before he could, the Astartes Sergeant entered the hold and removed his helmet which he held in the crook of his arm. Fifty faces turned to look at him.

“My name is Marus Vehn. Sergeant or Sergeant Vehn to you.” Sergeant Vehn looked younger than the Astartes Officers. Like them, his hair and eyes were black. His skin, however, was not as pale nor his face as scarred. As he spoke, restraining harnesses began to lower over Saeg and the others as the boarding ramp sealed. “Allow me to add my welcome to those of the Shadow Captain and the Officers of the Third Company.” Sergeant Vehn smiled as the whine of the transport’s engines increased in volume as the craft shook slightly. “You are the third wing. Fifty young warriors whose eyes are filled with dreams of glory and honour.”

Saeg, as well as many others, grinned in excitement. A few of the younger potentials whispered to each other as the Sergeant strode down the center of the transport hold. “Yes! I see it in your faces. Honour, glory, and not a single iota of rational thought between the lot of you!”

“Sir?” One of the boys further down the hold asked after a moment of silence.

Sergeant Vehn turned and glared at the youth who looked away from his gaze, fear written on his face. “I am no Officer! I am your Sergeant, boy.” He said, a threatening tone in his voice. Saeg frowned slightly in response. “You will address me as Sergeant or as Sergeant Vehn or you will be silent.” He looked around at the youths lining the transport bay. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, Sergeant!” The majority of the Potentials, including Saeg and Ashur, responded but not all.

The transport began to shake, and the noise of the engines raised themselves to a loud roar that could be heard even within the armoured shell of the hold. “Good. We will be arriving in Volos Secundus’ airspace in sixty minutes time. We will touch down at the airfields of Ravensdown Fortress on the northern continent.” As he paced the hold, the Sergeant made eye contact with each of the Potentials. “When you disembark, you will be processed and issued equipment. Do not lose it. There will be no replacements.”

A voice came over the transport’s internal vox. “All hands, prepare for departure and to enter the void.”

The Raven Guard turned and looked at Saeg. “Time to see what you are made of.”

_###_

“Greetings Inquisitor,” Shadow Captain Huuen said as he watched the transports piercing the atmospheric envelope of the  _Luminous Correspondence_. His Officers had left to return to the  _Umbra Rex_ , and so only the Captain had remained to watch the departure.

“Shadow Captain,” Inquisitor Van Staal replied as she approached to stand beside him at the observation deck’s viewport. “A stirring thing to witness is it not?” She asked. “Three hundred potential Adeptus Astartes novitiates taking their first steps toward their destiny and the birth of a new Chapter?”

“Most will not survive the trials they face, Inquisitor,” Huuen said matter-of-factly. “Though each possesses the raw material with which to form an Astartes, most will fall short of the mark.”

“How many do you expect to lose Captain?”

“I expect no more than five squads of Astartes to successfully be integrated into the command structure of the third from the initial three hundred.” He replied, watching the transport containing the third wing of Potentials breach the atmosphere envelope of the  _Luminous Correspondence_.

“So few?” Van Staal asked, sounding somber. “I had hoped that there would be more.”

The Shadow Captain grunted in response. “I am being optimistic Inquisitor. There will be losses beyond the point of elevation to Astartes.”

“Hence why the Luminous Correspondence is scheduled to be joined by  _The Master of Computations_  and  _The Tetractys_  within the next forty-eight hours?” The Inquisitor asked.

Huuen was quiet as he watched the transports carrying the fourth wing and then the fifth wing of Potentials breach the atmospheric envelope and hurtle out into space. “Yes, Inquisitor. Although the  _Master of Computations_  and the  _Tetractys_  each carry one thousand five hundred and fifteen potentials.”

Together the Inquisitor and the Raven Guard Captain watch the sixth and final wing of Potentials leave the Luminous Correspondence. It was the Inquisitor who spoke first. “Three thousand three hundred and thirty Potentials? That seems significant does it not?”

Dominic Huuen turned to look a the Inquisitor. “I do not know, Inquisitor Van Staal.” He made the sign of the Aquila. “If you will excuse me, there is a great deal of work to do.”

The Inquisitor made the sign of the Aquila in response. “Of course Captain. Emperor Guide you.”

Niobe turned and crossed her arms as she watched the Raven Guard Captain leave the observation deck and leaned against the railing before the great armorplas viewport. She waited until she was confident that the Astartes would not be able to hear her. “Shrike to Forktail.”

“Forktail here.” A voice responded over the encrypted vox channel the Inquisitor had requested that Calamity prepare.

“Status of assets.” The Inquisitor watched as a lone servitor entered the observation deck, the brushes connected to the ends of its mechanical limbs cleaning the floor nearest the door with a soft whirr.

The soft hiss of static filled the channel for a moment until Forktail responded. “Assets Hawk and Lark are in place.”

“Good. Shrike out.” Niobe stood up and walked over to the servitor, reaching under her coat. “Servitor,” She said getting its attention. “What is your designation?”

The man-machine hybrid stopped and turned to regard her with simple auspex eyes. “This unit is designated Omicron-Theta-Theta-Charlie-MXVII.” It responded it’s voice harsh from disuse.

“Cortex override Omicron-Theta-Theta-Charlie-MXVII,” She said as she took her Inquisitorial Rosette out from under the storm-coat and pressing a hidden button on it, sent a small signal burst to the servitors optic receptors.

“Code accepted Inquisitor: Awaiting instructions.”

“Delete all sensory data and recordings for the last forty-five minutes, Magenta level security procedures. Ignore additional commands until wipe is complete then return to pre-programmed parameters. Acknowledge.” The Inquisitor said, placing her Rosette back under her coat.

The servitor’s mouth hung slack as it processed the commands. “Acknowledged.”

Omicron-Theta-Theta-Charlie-MXVII remained where the Inquisitor had left it, brushes lying motionless on the deck; a string of drool slowly dripping from its mouth. Ten minutes after the Inquisitor left, the servitor closed its mouth and returned to cleaning the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Imperialis: A winged skull that was used during the Heresy to recognize bravery and loss. In modern times it is used more to represent the Imperiums’ victories over its foes.  It is also awarded to the Adeptus Astartes to commemorate great victories.  
> 2\. Plastron: Also known as a chest piece, this piece of armour protects the wearer’s torso.  
> 3\. Pauldron: A large shoulder guard that covers the upper arms, a portion of the back and chest.  In the case of the Power Armour of the Astartes, the pauldron is Auto-Reactive, meaning that they will move so as to not inhibit vision or movement.  
> 4\. Librarius: The Librarius is part of the command and control of a Chapter.  Within its walls is the collected knowledge and wisdom of the Chapter.Full-battle brothers who are attached to the Librarius are known as Librarians and each of them is a psyker.  
> 5\. Apothecarion: The medical and bio-engineering department of a Chapter. Astartes assigned to the Apothercarion are called Apothecaries. They are primarily concerned with the maintenance and recovery of the Chapter’s gene-seed but also act as field medicae.  
> 6\. Reclusium: The store-house of the Chapter’s holy relics are displayed and the Chapter’s ceremonies and rituals are performed. Astarted assigned to facilitate to the Reclusium are called Chaplains. 


	8. Like Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that there hasn't been a new chapter in weeks. The last three few weeks have been trying personally. I'm attempting to get a new chapter written no more than every two weeks. They may be sooner than that, but hopefully not later. *fingers crossed*

Passing through the atmospheric envelope of Volos Secundus was unlike anything most of the potentials had ever experienced. The entire transport had shaken violently, and the cargo compartment where the Potentials sat restrained in their seats howled with the sounds of the transport dragging through the atmosphere. Sargeant Vehn sat mutely near the front of the compartment seemingly entirely at ease. From where Saeg was seated, he could see the Sargeants mouth moving occasionally, but his facial expressions never implied that anything out of the ordinary was happening. He looked around and the potentials nearest to him, some had their eyes closed murmuring prayers under their breaths. Some sad wide-eyed with barely controlled fear. Others grabbed hold of the restraint harnesses with white-knuckle grips but otherwise appeared calm. A few, like Ashur, grinned widely as if enjoying the experience.

Then, as swiftly as the noise and shaking had begun, it stopped. The transport carrying the potentials of Third Wing and Sargeant Vehn landed at the airfield outside Ravensdown Fortress a few minutes later. There was a sharp jolt as the aircraft touched down and, as the restrains lifted from the shoulders of the Potentials, Sargeant Vehn stood. “As of this moment, you are Potentials no longer. You are aspirants of a Raven Guard successor Chapter.” The Space Marine looked at the youths as he proceeded to the rear of the transport. “From this moment forward, you will train and be judged. Elevation to the ranks of the Astartes awaits those who succeed.” Reaching the end of the hold, Sargeant Vehn turned to look back at the aspirants, hitting a large button that caused the ramp to begin lowering. “For those who fail, death or mortal servitude to your Chapter awaits.”

Saeg and the other aspirants stood and, following the Sergeant, exited the transport in two columns. The light of the twin suns was bright and warm on his skin. Saeg smiled briefly and as he walked cast his gaze as the sights around him. Five other transports, clad in the colours of the Raven Guard, were either in the process of landing on the airfield or else in some stage of disembarking aspirants from their holds. Just a kilometre away stood the outer defensive walls of Ravensdown fortress. The black ferrocrete walls were tall and uninviting. Behind the exterior walls, the inner walls were visibly elevated above the height of the outer walls. Vehicles and men moved back and forth in significant numbers. Everything had a feeling of newness to it as if they had been constructed within the last few days.

The Sargeant did not lead them towards the Fortress. Instead, he directed them towards the third in a line of long prefabricated modular buildings that stood between the fortress walls and the airfield. As they approached, Saeg could see that the aspirants of the other Wings and their sergeants were doing the same. Sargeant Vehn stopped outside the entrance and stood before it. “Within, each of you will be given your personal equipment. They will be coded with your genespore ** 1 ** in the event they are required to identify your remains. Do not lose them, there will be no replacements. In the event of a fatality in the field, if a choice must be made between the aspirants remains and their equipment, leave the former and return the latter.”

Saeg and Ashur shared a quick glance before the sergeant continued. “There will be some additional medical tests performed on you while you are within. Follow the directions of the medicae and forge assistants within without question. There are many kilometres to cover before night falls and delays will be problematic for you should night come before we reach our destinations.” Sargeant Vehn stood aside so that the aspirants could enter the building. “I will await you at the rear of the facility. When all are assembled, we will proceed on foot into the hills.” With that, the Sergeant turned and walked around the corner of the building and out of sight. For a few moments, the aspirants looked at one another, waiting for someone to go first. Then one of the boys near the steps took a deep breath and walked into the building. Soon after the others began to follow suit.

The room within was filled with plastic sheeting that partitioned the room into four semi-private areas. At the entrance to each stood a medicae assistant with a handheld device. One after another, the aspirants were directed to join the medicae assistant behind the dividers. After a few minutes, the aspirant would exit the divided space and proceed around a corner. When Saeg’s turn came, he joined the medicae behind the divider. The only items in the tiny area was a simple examination slab that was elevated so that the patient could lean back against it rather than lying prone and a stool. The medicae directed Saeg to recline against the examination slab.

“Name and planet of origin,” he said as he began to place scanning probes in specific places on Saeg’s body.

“Saeg,” he paused. “They said my planet’s official designation is Herne Secundus. I knew it as Cerneus.”

The medicae held out the device he had been holding. “Place your thumb on the recessed pad.” Seag did as he was instructed, a second later there was a sharp pinch. Seag grunted, more in surprise than in pain. The device made a small chirping sound. The medicae looked at it briefly. “Confirmed, your DNA matches that of aspirant Saeg of Herne Secundus.” Once he had finished attaching the probes to Saeg’s body, the medicae sat on the stool. “I will be recording audio and imagery of this examination. Please do not interrupt or ask any questions. If I ask you a question, keep your answers brief and concise.” He looked up at Saeg. “Do you understand.”

“Yes. I understand.”

“Good. Beginning examination, now.”

Saeg watched as a holographic version of himself slowly resolved itself before him. He took a deep breath and looked in awe at the detail. Hovering before him was a boy with short dark hair and green eyes. His face was lean but not gaunt, and his mouth was full-lipped. “Subject gamma sixteen; Saeg of Herne Secundus. Age 11 years Terran Approximate. Weight and height are averages for Homo Sapien Sapien. Skeletal, nervous, circulatory, and musculature all appear to be normal. Sign of bone regrowth on right radius suggests transverse fracture approximately four Terran years before examination.” As Saeg watched, the holographic representation changed as the medicae spoke. The skin was stripped away, then the musculature, then the organs, until finally, the image of his own skeleton stared back at him. “Bloodwork and standard genetic tests remain positive. Subject gamma sixteen appears to be in good health.

A seal with a stylized two-headed eagle, one looking to the left with an open eye, the other to the right with the eye closed, resolved into view overlaying the hologram. The word “approved” appeared as if stencilled over the image. “You are medically cleared for service Aspirant Saeg. Proceed to the end of the room and down the hall. You will receive your kit from the armoury assistants there.” After the medicae had removed the sensors from his body, Saeg nodded and exited the dividers.

As he passed, he took a quick glance into the other partitioned spaces. He was unsurprised to see that the other Aspirants were also being examined. Upon reaching the end of the room, he turned and proceeded down the corridor. A short line of Aspirants stood in front of him, and every few seconds it would move. After about a minute, Saeg was able to see what was going on. There were multiple stations along the right side of the room. At each station, what Saeg assumed was an armoury assistant, was handing out equipment. As they arrived at a station, each aspirant was given a large backpack in the same dark blue of the bodygloves that they wore and a pair of black boots with corded laces. Also, each aspirant was given a leather bracer with a small metal plate on it as well as a long combat knife with a belt and sheath.

When it was Saeg’s turn, the armoury assistant grunted and handed him one of the backpacks. “Put it on,” he said. The pack was not light, but Saeg was sure he’d be able to handle the weight. “The pack adjusts here, here, and here.” He said pointing to various points on the shoulder straps and waist belt.

“I’ve worn a pack before,” Saeg said, slightly sarcastically.

The assistant sighed as if he’d heard every other aspirant say the same thing. “Good. The contents of the kit include the following: Additional bodyglove, hydration packs, day rations, thermal blanket, medical kit, cord, meal kit, and foul weather gear.” The assistant handed him a pair of boots. “Try them on.”

Saeg removed the pack to put on the boots and laced them up. “They fit,” he said as he wiggled his toes and stamped his feet to test them.

“Good. Next station.” Saeg picked up the pack and then turned to thank the armoury assistant, but the man had already moved onto the next aspirant. Shrugging, Seag moved onto the next station.

The assistant at the next station looked him up and down. “Place your thumb on the pad.” He said as he took one of the combat knives and sheaths from where they were stacked and placed them under a strange looking device. Saeg obediently placed his thumb on the pad and felt a sharp prick. After a moment, the strange device began to etch something into the blade of the knife and then repeated the same pattern on the sheath. “This blade now belongs to you aspirant.” The armoury assistant said as he held out the sheathed knife and belt. “It is marked with your code so that we may know it. Do not lose it. Do not trade it. Treat it with respect and keep it honed. There will be no replacements.”

Saeg took the weapon from the assistant and bowed slightly. “My thanks, I will honour it.”

The aspirant behind him snorted, and Saeg glanced at him questioningly. He was tall and well built with blond hair and blue eyes. “Next station, aspirant.” The armoury assistant said, indifferent to both Saeg’s show of gratitude or the next aspirant’s lack of respect. Saeg nodded and moved to the last station.

The armoury assistant at the last station barely looked up from the table where he was affixing a blackened metal plate to a pair thick blue-black leather bracers. Grabbing one of the pairs with the plate already riveted to the leather, he placed the plated bracer beneath an apparatus similar in design to the one at the previous station. While Saeg watched, an emerald coloured beam of light burned symbols into the plate. When the machine completed it, the assistant handed the pair to Saeg. “These are yours, like the blade you were given they are marked with your identification. Wear them always. Do not trade them. Do not lose them. Join the rest of your wing outside.”

Seag did as he was instructed and went to join his fellow aspirants in the grass behind the building. Sargeant Vehn stood off to one side looking at a dataslate. As each aspirant exited the building, he would look up at them before returning to the device in his hands. Seag took his pack off and placed it on the ground at his feet. He took a moment to look around at his surroundings.

To the north, beyond rolling hills and forest he could just make out a line of white-capped mountains. The mountains were hazy and indistinct due to their distance from the fortress. To the east stood the massive grey-black stone walls of Ravensdowns fortress. Far to the west, past the landing field, the horizon hinted at either another mountainous region or else an extension of the range to the north. Seag took a deep breath, taking in the scents of the world around him. Despite the smell of promethium exhaust, hot metal, and the buildings around him the air of this planet, Volos Secundus, smelled clean.

“This planet is very different from my own.” Ashur’s voice came from behind him.

“Oh,” Seag said, turning around to face the other aspirant. “How so?”

“Well, for starters, the only green I saw before today was in the pleasure gardens of the upper levels of the hive,” Ashur said as he belted on his own combat knife. “My world was steel and ceramite. Not vegetation and soil.” He grinned. “It’s odd.”

Saeg felt himself grinning and put on his knife belt as well. “This place smells different than my home, but the surroundings are familiar enough.”

“Agri-world?”

“No. The Tech-priest called it a Feudal World.” Saeg looked at the back of the bracers he had been given. Rather than lacing, the bracers utilized a system of straps and buckles. “Like this planet, we had great forests and mountains.”

“But little to no technology greater than simple black powder firearms, yes?” Ashur asked as he began to buckle on his bracers.

“My village had a vox caster to keep in contact with others,” Saeg responded, also putting on his bracers. “The large cities like Phalensthar had more technology than the rural areas, but the level of technology like that seen on the Mechanicus vessel? No. Not that I’ve ever witnessed.”

“What did you do on your homeworld?”

Saeg regarded Ashur for a moment. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?” The other aspirant smiled. Saeg sighed inwardly. That’s a genuine enough smile, he thought. “Alright. My father trained me to be a hunter. I was thought to be amongst the best of the next generation of hunters in the village.”

Ashur’s smile grew. “I knew you’d be a good fellow to befriend,” he said then grew serious. “I’m out of my element in a place like this. I was a hunter amongst my people as well, but my hunting ground was the depths of an ancient hive.” Ashur looked around at the other aspirants and took a step closer towards Saeg. “If you watch my back, I’ll watch yours. I swear by my blood, you will be as my brother.” Ashur held out his hand.

Seag considered the outstretched hand. He grasped Ashur’s forearm so that their wrists touched and pulled him close. “Alright Ashur. I will watch your back, like brothers.” He said a sombre note in his voice.

Ashur looked surprised for a moment and then grasped his forearm in return. “Like brothers.” He said, his voice sombre as well.

The two aspirants released each other’s wrists and then finished their preparations and then shouldered their packs. They turned to face Sargeant Vehn to find him looking in their direction. Had he watched their entire conversation?

“Aspirants of Third Wing!” The Astartes boomed in his transhuman voice. “Now that you have all joined us, you have five minutes to finish preparing. It will be a long trek into the wilderness before we reach your new home.”

####  **Notes:**

  1. Genespore: Slang for record of genetic code.  Used to identify and or track individuals.



 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Genespore: A record of an individual's genetic code. Used to identify and or track individuals.


	9. Talons of the Third

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hours of trekking through the forest and hills north of Ravensdown, Third Wing finally arrives at their destination.  After separating them into Talons, or squads of ten aspirants, Sergeant Vehn gives the Talons their orders for the evening promising a hard day the following day.  Answering the question of who is to lead with an ominous "Figure it out for yourselves." the Astartes adds only that there are to be no deaths.  It's could be a rough night for the aspirants.

For four hours Sargeant Vehn had set a brutal pace through the forest and hills north of Ravensdown Fortress. His genetically enhanced musculature and muscle-fibre bundles of his armour making light work of the speed he had set. “Keep up,” had been all that the Astartes had said at the beginning of the trek. The fifty members of Third Wing strung out behind him, their breaths so ragged and pained that he would have been able to hear them, even without his enhanced hearing. More than a few of the aspirants had been sick over the course of the last four hours, their bodies rebelling at the strain but none of them had collapsed.

Sargeant Vehn slowed his pace as he entered a large clearing. In the very centre of the stood a natural rock table, the surface of which rose three feet from the surrounding earth. The northern side of the table formation formed into tiers. This created natural steps which allowed the Sargeant to ascend to the top of the structure quickly. From there he looked back the way he had come and watched the first of Third Wing breathlessly stumble into the clearing, Saeg and Ashur were among their number. Upon reaching the clearing, many of the aspirants doubled over trying to catch their breath and not a few of them collapsed to the ground exhausted looking up at the Astartes warrior who merely stood there watching them.

It took nearly thirty minutes for the last of the aspirants to arrive in the clearing, the shadows of the forest lengthening as the daylight faded. As they did, Sergeant Vehn spoke. “Welcome to your new home, Third Wing. You did well to make it here before nightfall.” As the Sergeant scanned the aspirants, more than a few looked at him with poorly veiled hatred. “You will be divided into squads of ten aspirants. These will be your Talons. As there are predators in this wood, I would suggest that you use the remaining daylight to gather firewood. It would also behoove you to arrange shifts for sentries. You will sleep under the stars tonight.” Many of the aspirants looked at one another, some with concern some with fear. “In the morning, the construction begins, and then, when I am satisfied, each squad will build their barracks. The sooner you complete the defences, the sooner you can build your barracks and sleep away from the elements. Now, then. Let’s put you into squads, shall we?”

The Sergeant called out ten names and directed the aspirants to stand together to his left. “You are Talon One,” He said to them before calling out the next group. “Ashur, Brakus, Brock, Elias, Kephis, Lesin, Manock, Nephis, Saeg, and Trajen. You are Talon Two.” The Sargeant pointed to the area beside Talon One. One by one the members of Talon Three, Talon Four, and Talon Five we named. While the members of the remaining Talons were announced, Saeg looked at his new companions. Brakus was a large boy with a square jaw, dark eyes, and brown hair. Brock was plain looking with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. Elias had light brown skin and dark hair and eyes. Kephis and Nephis were twins. Their skin was so pale as almost to be translucent, and their eyes and short curly hair was virtually as black as the Raven Guard. Like Elias, Lesin had dark hair and eyes, but his skin was rich dark brown. Manock’s blonde hair and blue eyes did nothing to improve the ugliness of his features. Trajen was almost as tall as Brakus, and wiry where Brakus was bulky. His green eyes were severe and black hair was cropped close.

When he had finished, Sargeant Vehn looked at the assembled Talons. “Each Talon will be responsible for guarding a portion of the clearing. Talon One, you will take this section,” He said pointing to an area in front and the left of him. “Talon Two, this section will be under your watch.” The Astartes pointed to the area in front and the right of him. On and on he went until the five Talons were arranged around the table rock in the centre. “Go, gather wood for a fire and set yourselves to watches. Tomorrow will be a long day.” He turned to step down from the rock formation.

“Sargeant,” one of the boys from Talon Three called out. The Astartes continued to step down from the stone. “Who will lead each Talon?”

“Figure that out for yourselves,” he replied indifferently. “However, there will be no deaths. Now go.”

“Let’s go,” Trajen said walking towards the area Talon Two was assigned.

“What? You think you’re the leader?” Brakus grumbled. Lesin and Manock stood behind him glaring at Trajen.

“Does it matter?” Trajen asked as he continued to walk towards Talon Two’s area. “We need to figure things out.”

“Oh, I think it matters a great deal.”

Trajen sighed and turned around. “Tell me then Brakus,” He said calmly. “Do you want the leadership of Talon Two?”

“Don’t patronize me, shugat.” Balling his fists the largest of Talon Two took a threatening step forward. Lesin and Manock fanned out around the larger boy, eager looks on their faces.

Ashur nudged Saeg in the ribs and motioned towards Trajen who had taken a step back and observed Brakus and his cronies closely. Brakus stalked forwards, hands slightly outstretched. “Well?” Ashur asked as Trajen took another step backwards in an attempt to keep all three of the aspirants within view.

“Well, what?” Saeg replied.

“Do we help Trajen or join in with Brakus and his minions?”

Saeg watched as Manock lunged at Trajen from the left while Lesin attacked from the right. The beset aspirant pivoted on one foot and set a whip-like kick across Manock’s already ugly face knocking him to the ground. As Trajen recovered, Lesin threw a right hook that caught the taller boy on the chin. Brakus rushed in and threw a hammering punch into Trajen’s stomach that doubled him over. Manock stood and spat blood and broken teeth in the grass as he stood up. He grabbed Trajen by the hair and brought his knee up into the other boy’s face.

“Come on Saeg; we need to make a choice now!” Ashur whispered urgently as Manock and Lesin grabbed Trajen one on each arm and hauled him upright. Bloody drool hung from Trajen’s cracked lips as Brakus slammed on fist into his head and prepared to level another. Lesin took the opportunity to bring his knee up repeatedly into Trajen’s ribs in between Brakus’ blows.

Saeg sighed and then stepped forward. “Enough, Brackus.” He said. Ashur looked at him incredulously, apparently having expected him to either side with the big youth or else charge into Trajen’s defence.

“Enough? I’ll say when it’s enough.” Brakus sneered, raising his fist to strike.

“Then you’re a fool.”

Brakus looked at Saeg, glowering. “What did you say to me? You want some too?”

Saeg unbuckled his knife belt and tossed it to Ashur, who just stared at him wide-eyed. “I said, then you’re a fool, Barkus. Fools don’t make good leaders.”

“Oh?” Brakus said, his voice full of malice. “Well then, what was it? Saeg?” The big aspirant asked. Saeg nodded. “One might call you a fool for sticking your nose in where it doesn’t belong.” Manock and Lesin let go of Trajen, and the other boy sank to the ground. “Seems to me like you’re asking for the same treatment as Trajen.”

Saeg shrugged. “I wouldn’t try the same thing on me that you did with Trajen.”

“And why is that?”

Saeg didn’t wait. He moved. He moved faster than any of Talon Two were expecting or even react too. He covered the ground between himself and Brakus in a heartbeat. The larger aspirant tried to take a half step back, his eyes wide with surprise as Saeg drew Brakus’ combat knife and held it to his throat.

“I will gut you like an Andamane **1**.” He put the slightest pressure on the knife and watched Brakus wince as a thin line of blood trickled down his neck. “Do we understand one another?”

“Yes.”

Saeg withdrew the knife from Brakus’ throat and stepped back. “Good.”

“I just have one question.”

“What’s that?”

Brakus face took on a pained expression. “What’s an Andamane?”

Saeg regarded the other aspirant for a moment. “A species of wild boar, native to my homeworld.”

“Is it fierce?”

“It is. It can tear a man in half with its tusks and grind his bones into jelly with its hooves.”

Brakus’ barked out a short laugh. “I’ve been called worse things then I guess. May I have my knife back?’ Saeg nodded and handed back the knife, hilt first. As he did, Saeg noted that the tension flood out of the aspirants surrounding them. Brakus took the knife and placed it back in his sheath. “I’ve never seen anyone move that fast.” He said, his hand wiping the blood away from his neck.

“It’s an old hunter’s trick.” Saeg shrugged and walked over to Ashur who handed him back his belt and knife. “Ashur, you and Brakus each take half of the Talon and go find dry wood in the forest just beyond the area we’re to watch. Be back within the hour, and we’ll figure out sentry order.”

“Yes sir,” Ashur said with a grin on his face. “Kephis, Nephis, and Elias you’re with me.” The three aspirants nodded and moved off with Ashur into the forest.

“I guess that means you’re with us Brock,” Brakus said leading Lenis and Manock towards the edge of the trees.

“Gotcha,” Brock said as he trotted off after Brock’s group.

Seag walked over to where Trajen sat in the grass, opening his pack and pulling out the sealed medical supplies. “Here. Let me help with that,” He said.

“Sod off,” Trajen muttered through cracked lips as he struggled with the film coating the supplies. Saeg took them away from him. Trajen slumped and glared at him mutely.

“Look,” Saeg said as he opened the supplies and pulled out the small hand scanner. He ran the scanner over Trajen’s face and chest before continuing. “I’m sorry, I didn’t want to get involved.”

“I noticed.”

The little scanner beeped as it finished its scan of Trajen’s wounds. “Nothing broken. Good.” He returned the device to the medical packet and took out one of the alcohol swabs. “This will sting,” Saeg said as he started cleaning the cuts and abrasions on Trajen’s face.

The other boy winced. “Despite your reluctance to get involved the others seem to be following you now.”

“That wasn’t my intention.”

“Doesn’t matter what your intention was,” Trajen growled. “It’s what has happened.”

Saeg finished cleaning the cuts and abrasions, then pulled out the small canister of synthskin and applied small amounts to the deeper ones. “Do you want to lead?”

“What?”

“I said, do you want to lead?”

Trajen sighed. “No.” He probed his side and winced. “I took action because no one was doing anything, not because I wanted to lead.”

“Then, why did you fight Brakus and his cronies?” Saeg asked he suspected he knew the answer already.

“Brakus and his type, they respond only to violence. They respect only those strong enough to fight for what they want.” Trajen shrugged, then winced again. “Better to be beaten than to back down.”

Saeg packed up the medkit and handed it to Trajen. “I understand.” He looked around the clearing, his eyes resting on the Astartes who was looking right at him. “Are you well enough to help me prepare a fire pit?

Trajen followed Saeg ‘s line of sight. “Yes.”

After a moment, the Sergeant turned away from them and stood facing Talon Three’s assigned area. A brawl had erupted between what seemed to be every member of the Talon. Seag watched the Astartes a moment longer. “Alright, let’s get to it.”

Groaning, Trajen stood up and drew his knife. “Right.”

************************************************************

The members of Talon Two who had gone off in search of wood returned on schedule, arms loaded with enough fuel to keep them warm throughout the night. Upon their return, they discovered that Saeg and Trajen had scrapped out a pit from the earth of the clearing floor and lined it with stacked stones dug from the ground and gathered from around the rock formation in the centre. The gathers had also managed to capture a sizeable furred creature which the remains of which hung on the roasting spit constructed by Elias. There had been enough meat for all of them.

“We have similar creatures on my homeworld.” Elias had said while he was gutting and skinning the animal. “When we were gathering wood, I noticed a trail and took a few moments to set a trap.” The youth smiled. “We were lucky. I checked the trap on our way back and found this plump fellow strangled in it.”

“There is a similar creature on my homeworld as well. These creatures seem to live on most of the worlds in this sector then.” Saeg said. “The hind legs of ours have sharp claws and powerful paralytic venom.”

“Ours do as well,” Elias confirmed. “This one here has similar claws so I would guess that they might also have the same venom.”

“I can remove the claws and venom sacks. We should keep them.”

“Already done, Saeg. I wrapped them in the sealing film from my medical kit.” Elias patted his kit bag.

“Good job Elias.” Seag had nodded appreciatively. After Elias finished butchering the animal, he had helped mount the animal on the spit.

When the meat had started roasting, more than a few aspirants from other Talons had approached them about the roasting meat.

“There’s more than enough for your Talon. Share with us.” Said the large boy that Saeg recognized as the one that had stood behind him in the line. He was now apparently the leader of Talon Three. The rest of his Talon stood behind him.

Saeg had shaken his head in refusal. “No, I think not. While there may be extra; you have rations. You will not starve.”

The youths of Talon Three grumbled and drew closer to their leader. “Give us a share of the meat, or we will take it all.”

Brakus’ deep laugh echoed from the other side of the fire. “Oh, I don’t think so Ehant. Go back to your camp. Your Talon already has enough bruises.”

Ehant peered at the other boy from around the roasting animal. “Brakus? Is that you? Why do you not lead Talon Two?”

“Saeg convinced me that he was the better fit.”

“I did not know you to be a coward, Brakus,” Ehant said with a sneer.

Brakus laughed again, but when he spoke there was a chill tone in his voice. “I’m not Ehant. I, however, am smart enough to able to recognize when I am bested.”  
“This shugat bested you?!” Ehant roared with laughter. “Talon Two must be full of dead weights and has-beens then!” He stopped laughing and wiped his mouth. “I think we’ll take all of the meat after all.”

“Stop.” The deep timbre of Sargeant Vhen’s voice rose out of the darkness around the combatants. Both Talons stopped and waited as he entered the circle of light around Talon Two’s encampment. “The flesh of the Flemaat **2**. is not for you to take by force Talon Three. Return to your encampment.”

Ehant relaxed the fist that had grabbed a handful of Saeg’s bodyglove. “This isn’t over, shugat.” He said, pushing him back a little.

“It never is, Ehant,” Saeg replied before raising his voice a little. “You heard the Sargeant, Ashur. Brakus.”

With a grunt, Brakus let go of the two aspirants he had been wrestling. Ashur likewise released the aspirant he’d had in an armbar. Ashur grinned with excitement. Ehant snorted in disgust and pushed his way through his Talon, returning to his encampment. The rest of his Talon followed casting dark looks at Talon Two.

Sargeant Vehn turned to Saeg. “Come with me.” Saeg followed the Astartes into the darkness towards the rock formation at the centre of the clearing. “Why did you refuse to share the meat with Talon Three?” The transhuman giant asked.

“Because there was no need. Elias captured the Flemaat due to his quick thinking and resourcefulness not as part of a hunting expedition to feed the Wing.” Saeg answered. “Talon Two sharing the meat only with one another may help to strengthen bonds already strained by the combat earlier.”

“I see.”

Saeg paused. “I also didn’t like Ehant’s tone or assumption. I could tell that the rest of Talon Two didn’t either.”

In the darkness, the space marine chuckled. “Very well Saeg. Just remember, all of these aspirants are intended to become your brothers, not just Talon Two.” He said seriously. “Wounded pride is often one of the more difficult hurdles to overcome.”

“I will consider the wisdom of your statement Sargeant.”

The space marine was silent for a moment. “Return to your Talon, aspirant.” He said. “Morning comes early and the day will be long.”

“Understood.” Seag turned and began to walk back to the light of Talon Two’s encampment.

As Sargeant Vehn watched the aspirant go, the Raven Gaurd engaged his suit’s vox unit. After a moment, he received a response. “Acknowledged brother, what can I do for you?”

“Forgive me for the interruption Epistolary. I think you may want to re-examine one of the aspirants.”

“Oh?” Enoc Zar responded. “It wouldn’t be the first time an aspirant’s latent power showed itself during training. Just, not this early usually.” The librarian sounded intrigued. “Who is it?”

“Gamma 16. Saeg of Talon Two.” He said as he watched the aspirant return to the company of his Talon.

“Understood brother. Zar out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Andamane: A large boar-like creature with thick spiky hair along its spine and large sharp tusks.  Full grown adults can bet as large as a pony and is capable of tearing a grown man open from groin to neck  
> 2\. Flemaat: A genetically engineered creature that mostly resembles a Flemish Giant Rabit combined with a porcupine with razor sharp claws on its feet. Claws are coated with a paralytic venom.


	10. Hunters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day on Volos Secondus is coming to a close. Saeg and the rest of Talon Two prepare for sentry duty as ordered by Sargeant Vehn. Dreams plague the new leader of Talon Two. Dreams of days now past with his family back on Cerneus. Why? What does it mean?

Upon returning to Talon Two’s encampment, Saeg quickly determined who would be on sentry duty. He divided Talon Two into two groups of five to watch over their portion of the Wing’s overall camp. Each set of sentries would stand watch over their assigned area for a certain amount of time before rousing the next. This would allow every member of the Talon to get a reasonable amount of sleep and be rested for the following day’s activities. Trajen, Nephis, Kephis, Elias, and Brock would take the first watch. While Saeg, Ashur, Brakus, Lesin, and Manock would take the second. Seag had decided that two sentries would be stationed just within the forested area while the remaining three would take up positions around Talon Two’s camp.

“Having second watch reeks,” Lesin grumbled as he finished setting up his bedroll. “Vehn is going to work our asses off.”

Leaning his head on his arm, Ashur responded before Saeg could. “Don’t be so dour. Tomorrow night we’ll get first watch right?”

Saeg nodded from his place by the fire. “Yes.”

Brakus belched and scratched at his stomach then looked over at Manock who was already snoring. “Well, Manock has the right idea. I’m certainly not going to waste any more time chatting with you thugs.” The large aspirant grinned before turning his back to the firepit and letting out a rancid fart.

“Ugh!” Ashur exclaimed, waving his hand in front of his nose before he too turned his back to the fire.

Lesin glared at the two of them, climbed into his bedroll and closed his eyes.

What an odd assortment of characters, Saeg thought looking at the members of his Talon. He watched the flames of the now banked fire for a few minutes until he too fell asleep.

 

************************************

 

“Wake up Saeg! Hey! Come on, wake up!” Small hands shook his leg as he slowly woke to the sound of his little brother’s voice. He cracked open one eye to see Kaven all dressed in his outdoor gear; a big smile on his face. Saeg closed his eye again and groaned good-naturedly.

“Ugh… come on Kav, what time is it?”

“Three hours before dawn! Like Da said!”

Saeg rolled over and fixed his little brother with a mock glare. “Da said that we’d be getting up three hours before dawn to _get ready_.” He said stressing the last few words. “You’re all dressed and ready to go. You didn’t sleep, did you?”

Kaven shook his head and grinned. “How can you possibly sleep before you go hunting Saeg?!” His younger brother asked excitedly.

“I honestly have no idea Kav.” He smiled at his younger brother’s enthusiasm. His first hunt had come two years ago, and he had been just excited as Kav was now. “I’m up. I’ll get dressed and meet you and Da downstairs.”

“Alright!”

After Kaven had run out of the room, Saeg climbed out of the warm bed sheets and stretched. Looking out of the rolled glass window of the loft he could see that the day was going to be wet, gray, and cold.

He quickly got dressed in the many layers of his hunting gear and grabbed his kit. He quietly headed down from the half loft where the family slept to the main floor of the log cabin he shared with his brother and parents. Kaven sat at the table shovelling a meat porridge into his mouth. Saeg’s father, Tomas, was ladling out another bowl of the hot porridge and placed it down on the table before waving his eldest towards it.

“Thanks, Da.”

Tomas nodded then took a seat at the end of the table. He sipped at his Wilasp **1** bark tea; letting the soothing properties take root in his bones and muscles. Saeg wondered how many more years he’d have before the pain in his limbs kept Tomas from the hunt altogether. Irina, Tomas’ wife, was absent from the main floor. She would be up in a few hours to take care of the early morning chores while the boys were engaged in the hunt.

Kaven fidgetted in his chair while Saeg finished his breakfast. Eventually, Tomas put down his tea. “Kav, settle.” He said.

“Sorry, Da,” Kaven said, visibly trying to restrain his excitement.

Saeg finished the last spoonful of porridge and drained his beaker of water. Together, he and Kaven cleaned up the dishes and the cooking pot, leaving them on the counter to dry. When they had finished, they joined Tomas at the front door and slipped on their thick leather boots. After putting on their knife belts, Tomas and his sons donned their Kameno skin cloaks **2**. Saeg helped Kaven double check his compression bow **3** to ensure that the gage showed full pressure. While he was doing that, Tomas checked that Kaven had packed additional canisters in his kit. Kaven grinned as both confirmed that everything was okay.

Satisfied that his youngest son was amply prepared for the day, Tomas led his two sons out into the wet grey morning.

For a moment, Saeg opened his eyes. The fire still burned, though the height of the flames was less. In the half darkness surrounding the firepit, he could see the sleeping forms of Ashur and Brakus nearest to him. Other bedrolls lay prepared but empty, awaiting the return of their owners. The draw of sleep pulled at him, and Saeg frowned as he heard the beat of wings above him. He tried to force himself further awake, but the heaviness of slumber pulled him back into its depths.

The Forest of Itha where they made their home was known for it’s abundant, if not sometimes dangerous, game. While Kaven had a keen eye and was a reasonably good shot, he still had much to learn regarding the ways of the forest itself. After leaving their home, Tomas had stopped at the edges of the woods. “Saeg. You can go and hunt on your own today. Kaven and I will share his first hunt together.”

“Yes, Da,” Saeg replied. “I’ll meet you at the Hollow at the half-day.” His father nodded and, placing a hand on his youngest shoulder, turned east towards the hills.

Kaven waved back at his older brother. “Emperor bless your bolt, Saeg!”

“May he guide your hand, Kaven,” Saeg replied. Father and son put up their hoods and disappeared together into the foliage.

Seag looked up into the rain and drew his hood up. Since Kaven and his father had gone east into the hills, he turned west and descended into the lowlands of the forest.

 

************************************

 

Nearly two hours had passed since Saeg had parted ways from his father and brother. The sky, though still gray and raining, was beginning to lighten with the rising sun. Three Eelras **4** were tied to a thong that hung from his hip under his cloak. The Eelras pelts would bring in some credits. If nothing else, they would make a tasty stew for their half-day meal, but Saeg was hoping for a more significant game.

Fresh meat was rarely scarce in his father’s house. Tomas was an excellent hunter, and Saeg had learned his father’s lessons well. Each week Tomas would load up the salted and smoked game meat that was ready, as well as any cured pelts, and took them to sell at the Counting House in Hevensdown. The credits earned were not as significant as the amounts the Merchant Lords would receive from the fruits of his family’s labour.

Saeg crouched down to examine the evidence of the passage of a large animal. The tracks were fresh – likely made fifteen or twenty minutes earlier. He studied a small tuft of fur that hung from a thorny branch. Rolling it between his fingers, Saeg smiled. The hair was from a mature vicguna **5** , a quadruped herbivore whose coat could be turned into extremely warm clothing. Usually, the vicguna lived at higher elevations up in the hills or mountains. Like most of the game on Cerneus, the vicguna defied man’s attempts to domesticate them. The credits that the pelt alone would earn could cover the household’s costs for half a year at least!

He moved quickly. Keeping low and following the tracks in the soft earth and mud, Saeg moved deeper into the forest. As he tracked the vicguna, he realized that this was the deepest into this part of the forest he’d been. The trunks of the trees were large and covered with knobby growths; a sign of extreme age in their species. The canopy of interlacing branches was so thick that the earth below was barely wet from the rain. All around him, the noises of the forest continued, and Saeg crouched before pausing to listen.

A lazy wind sighed mournfully through the branches of the trees – rustling their leaves. Great drops of rainwater dripped slowly from the upper reaches of the canopy to fall in heavy pats as it struck the ground or lower leaves. The soft thud of hooves, just barely within Saeg’s ability to hear, echoed back from the underbrush before him. Saeg pulled his cloak tighter around him, relying on its chameleon-like properties to blend him into the surrounding foliage. Slowly, he raised his compression bow into a firing position and waited.

Slowly, and without a care in the world, the vicguna stepped partially out of shadows of the underbrush twenty yards in front of him. Large round eyes scanned the forest around it, and it’s large pointed ears twitched and turned at every sound. A pair of thick horns curled back from its forehead to bend around its ears before jutting forward along its jaw – pointed and sharp. Those could easily tear a man open if it got too close. Saeg thought to himself. The vicguna appeared to be a mature male, probably around four-year. It was not the largest game he had taken down himself, but it was big enough.

As it emerged from the underbrush, the vicguna nibbled at the leaves and shoots on the surrounding vegetation. Watching from where Saeg crouched it soon became apparent to Saeg that the animal was injured. It limped slightly, favouring its left hind leg and there was what appeared to be dried blood matting the fur of its hindquarters. However, from what Saeg could see the animal didn’t have any lacerations; just the blood. He slowly adjusting his aim and waiting for the vicguna to step forward with the foreleg facing him to give him a clean shot at the animal’s vitals.

His breathing slowed as the vicguna shifted its weight and stepped forward. The young hunter released his breath and the bolt of his compression bow in the same moment. The head of the projectile passed cleanly between the animal’s ribs and into its heart eliciting a scream of shock and pain.

The vicguna tried to run. It took off taking a few leaping strides before its strength faded. Saeg watched it stumble and then fall to the forest floor. He watched and waited motionless until the glossiness of death glazed over its open eyes. Rising, he walked over towards the felled animal carefully watching for any sign of life. He certainly did not want to be gored by those horns. When he confirmed that the animal had indeed passed, he knelt beside it and laid a hand reverently on its head.

“Spirit of this creature, I thank you for your sacrifice,” Saeg recited the ancient prayer just as his father had taught him to. “Your body shall nourish and provide for my people. Your passing shall not be in vain.” He reached forward and closed the vicguna’s eyes. “Sleep now and awaken to lush fields and cool waters.” He lowered his head and gave the Emperor silent thanks for his success.

Afterwards, Saeg reached into the leather bag at his hip and removed two small disks and a remote from it. He placed one of the circular metal discs on the vicguna’s hip and the other on its shoulder then pressed the activation switch on the remote. Lights on both disks began to flicker in response, the ancient gravdisks engaging. With them, Saeg would be able to lift and carry the vicguna to the meeting place with ease.

Opening his pack, he removed two collapsible poles and a large piece of folded canvas. The canvas he unfurled and laid on the ground. Working quickly, Saeg expanded each of the poles and slid them through loops in the cloth making a kind of sled. He then maneuvered the vicguna onto the sled and then folded the extra material over it and tied the two halves together with cord. Satisfied that the vicguna was secure and covered from the elements, Saeg picked up one end of the sled and set off towards the Hollow.

In the branches above him, a large black raven watched the boy intently as he moved through the trees. After a moment, it took wing and followed Saeg through the forest.

 

************************************

 

Thanks to the gravdisks Saeg made excellent time. Unless his father and brother had also been successful in their hunt, he suspected that he would arrive before them. Tomas would remain out in the forest as long as he could until he either successfully brought down some worthy game or ran out of time. Seag smiled to himself. Unless Tomas and Kaven were very fortunate, the vicguna would represent the most successful hunt of the day and more than likely, the most successful hunt of the month.

As he travelled west, the rain slowly come to an end. The wind continued to blow with enough force to make the leaves rustle and sigh as it passed through the branches. Saeg moved cautiously through the forest. He thought about the splashes of blood on the animal’s hindquarters. He wondered, and not for the first time if something else had been hunting the vicguna. Suddenly, the wind changed direction, and Saeg caught a faint odour on the air. He paused and sniffed at the air, but the wind changed course again. It had smelled like blood and earth and something else. The fine hairs stood up on his neck. An uneasiness settled over him, and Saeg started to move with more urgency towards the Hollow which now lay just over the next hill.

Cresting the hill the forest opened up into open area. The branches of the trees around him covered the sky and reached in towards the center. A single massive tree sat at the center, its branches reaching out to the trees around it. The tree in the center was actually a mass of smaller trees that had at some point grown together and joined into what was functionally one massive tree. At the base was the Hollow. The Hollow was a large cavity where the roots of the trees grew from the earth up towards where they twisted and merged approximately eight feet above the forest floor.

Tomas and Kaven had beaten him there. Their own sled leaned against the outer wall of the Hollow. A fire burned cheerfully in the small stone-lined pit they had built long ago, and Tomas and Kaven sat around it. Kaven, who had been tending a pot on the fire, noticed Saeg first. He stood and waved at his older brother with a proud grin on his face. Saeg smiled and started to wave back but paused as Tomas grabbed his compression bow and rose to a firing stance in one smooth motion. Kaven’s face took on a look of horror just as Saeg heard the rolling snarl.

Dropping the sled, Saeg grabbed his own compression bow from its sling and spun around. At the edge of the forest, a smildon **6** , its oversized canines dripping with saliva stalked into sight. Its feline-like form was massively muscled, and its equally massive paws were tipped with razor-sharp claws. With those claws, a smildon was capable of ripping a grox open from throat to belly. They were fearsome predators who rarely came down from the mountains. Saeg realized that it must have killed the vicguna’s mate and drove it down into the lowlands.

Sniffing at the air in his direction, the smildon let out another one of those rolling snarls. Saeg heard Tomas shout and Daven scream in fear as an answering snarl came from behind him. There’s two of them! Saeg glanced quickly behind him and saw Tomas firing his compression bow upwards towards the massive tree that made up the Hollow. He shouldn’t have. In his moment of distraction, the smildon pounced.

Time slowed all around him, and the forest took on a surreal quality. Saeg turned and raised his compression bow. The smildon was almost on him in mid-leap but moving at a fraction of the speed it should have been. The fanged jaws of the predator opened wide, and it spread its forearms wide; razor sharp claws and teeth ready to rend his flesh. Saeg’s ears rang with the echo of the smildon’s snarl as he pulled the trigger mechanism of the bow. Both bolts struck the smildon through the eyes, driving into the apex predator’s brain. It was an impossible shot under the circumstances.

Time and the corpse of the smildon smashed into him driving him to the ground. Ribs cracked and broke under the dead weight. In one day, Saeg had killed both a vicguna and a smildon. The boy knew victory before his entire world shrank down to pain and the scent of the smildon – blood, earth, and something else. Seemingly far away, Kaven was screaming, his father was yelling, and the cawing of some unknown bird echoed in his mind as darkness claimed him.

“Wake up Saeg!” Ashur’s voice penetrated the darkness. “Come on Saeg, wake up!”

“Emperor’s breath he’s strong!” Brakus cursed as Saeg opened his eyes to find himself struggling with both of them. The two of them were holding him down as he fought and strained against them.

“You with us Saeg?”

He stopped struggling and took a long ragged breath. “Yeah,” Saeg responded. “I’m with you. You can let go.”

Brakus looked down at him. His nose and upper lip were awash with blood. Slowly, the larger boy released his arms as Ashur did the same. Brakus looked at Ashur. “Next time, you wake him.” He said.

“What happened?” Saeg asked, looking around at all nine faces of his Talon gathered around him.

Ashur looked at Trajen. “It’s our turn for watch duty. Brakus volunteered to wake you.” The golden-haired boy looked at Brakus with a sly grin on his face. Brakus made a sour face.

Trajen shook his head “Brakus was going to dump water on you, but just as he approached, you stood up and smashed him so hard in the face with your fist I thought you would kill him.”

“Not a chance,” Brakus said indignantly, pinching both sides of his nose.

“Anyway,” Ashur said laughing. “I jumped in and helped hold you down when we realized you weren’t actually awake.” He shrugged. “You know the rest.”

Saeg shook his head, clearly disturbed. “My apologies Brakus. I don’t know what happened.”

The large boy shrugged. “It’s okay Saeg. Let’s just say you owe me one.”

 

************************************

 

Sargeant Vehn stood by the rock, watching the aspirants of Talon Two when his vox chimed. “Epistolary.” He said.

“You were right Sargeant.” Enoc Zar confirmed. “I’m not exactly sure how his potential escaped the Librarium, but it’s there, lying mostly dormant.”

“Will you be coming to claim him?” he asked, leaning against the rock formation at the center of camp.

“Not unless we need to. If the aspirant survives, we will take him in hand then.”

“As you see fit, Epistolary.” Sergeant Vehn acknowledged before closing the vox link.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Wilasp: A tree whose bark has painkilling and anti-inflammatory properties. Said to have been brought from Ancient Terra when man first left to explore the stars.  
> 2\. Kameno skin cloaks: Cloaks made from the scaled skin of the Kameno lizard. This man-sized lizard is able to blend into his surroundings. Thankfully, the Kameno is a herbivore.  
> 3\. Compression Bow: A projectile weapon that uses compressed gas to fire solid bolts similar to a crossbow. Relatively silent.  
> 4\. Eelras: Small tunnel dwelling mammals with blunt muzzles, long bodies, and multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth. Genetically engineered cross between a rat and eel of old Earth.  
> 5\. Vicguna: A four-legged herbivore with a long neck, pointed ears, sharp curving horns, and a coat of thick fine fur. Cannot be domesticated. Descended from the alpaca of old Earth.  
> 6\. Smildon: Genetically engineered feline styled after the Sabertooth Tiger about the size of a pony. Powerfully muscled, its forelegs are much more pronounced than the rear. Massive canine teeth.


	11. Training

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Under the watchful eye of Sargeant Vehn, the aspirants of Third Wing work towards making their encampment a permanent fortification on Volos Secundus.  As that work completes, the aspirants begin their real training.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this newest chapter. I'm buying a house! Things are a bit up in the air...

The next morning had dawned in hues of grey, red, and orange. Sargeant Vehn gave the aspirants enough time to eat and clear up their bedrolls before marching them through the forest to another glade. There they discovered a large metal crate filled with picks, shovels, mauls, and wood axes. These the aspirants collected according to the Sargeant’s instructions. Some of the Talons were instructed to start felling trees around their encampment. Others, Talon Two among them, he directed to begin moving earth to create a deep ditch that would surround the camp at all sides.

Though the Sergeant oversaw the activities of the aspirants and corrected inconsistencies when he discovered them. The aspirants were surprised to learn that they possessed the knowledge needed to fulfill their assignments. One evening as the Saeg’s Talon rested after the day’s efforts, the Raven Guard Sergeant had overheard Lesin commenting on the strangeness of it all.

“It’s unnatural,” Lesin had said, grumbling as usual. “It’s like there is knowledge locked away in my mind that I don’t know I have until the moment I need it!”

“It is because you are the first generation,” The Sergeant had said, pausing in his rounds. “As such, the decision was made to prepare you in advance.”

Saeg looked up at the Astartes. “Prepared in advance? What do you mean Sergeant?” He asked.

“While you were in stasis, each of you was fitted with a Crown of Knowledge. It is a teaching machine that is capable of implanting skills and information directly into the mind of its wearer.”

“Is that why we can all understand each other, despite coming from foreign worlds?”

The Astartes nodded. “Very good aspirant. Yes, while each of you was implanted with mastery over Terran Low-Gothic, the idiosyncrasies of your own planet’s variant colour your speech.”

“What else has been implanted in our minds?” Asked Ashur

The Astartes looked at the golden-haired aspirant. “At this point, only the most basic skills that were determined you would need to survive your initial training.” Sargeant Vehn turned and proceeded to walk to the next Talon’s camp.

Lesin shook his head. “Unnatural I tell you.”

The days turned into weeks. By the end of the second week, the ditch had been completed, as had a wooden palisade complete with watchtowers. After the fortification was completed, two transport had arrived and deposited three pre-fabricated buildings behind and to either side of the rock table at the center of the encampment and one directly behind them. The first was a portable cookhouse that was manned by human personnel. While the meals were edible but the aspirants found them dull and often bland tasting. Sargeant Vehn claimed that they were full of the nutrients the aspirants’ bodies needed – as if that might improve their palatability. The second pre-fab building was a portable surgery and medical station. This too was manned by human personnel. The third and final building was a simple hab structure to house the Sergeant and additional staff.

The Talons were tasked with constructing roundhouses for themselves and future generations of recruits to live in next. Based on Sargeant Vehn’s instructions they started building. Once again the aspirants discovered that they possess knowledge they had no memory of learning. Under the sun of Volos, it was hot and dirty work. Sargeant Vehn took the time to inspect the work at each stage of the building process to ensure that the aspirants made no mistakes. If the Astartes judged the work below his standards, the Talon was forced to redo it. It was a lesson that Talon Two had to be taught only once. After two weeks most of the roundhouses, including Talon Two’s had been completed.

Sargeant Vehn now stood upon the table rock formation, now nicknamed The Perch by the aspirants, and looked down at them. The space marine was amused by the name, and so allowed it. It was as good a name as any. Third Wing had worked hard. In a months time, they had constructed a working and semi-fortified encampment from the flesh and bones of the land around them. Now the testing and training could begin.

“You’ve done well,” The Astartes said from atop The Perch. “Be proud of your accomplishments!”

Fifty youthful faces, many of with a mixed expression of weariness and pride, looked up at him. The last Talon had finished placing the roofing on their roundhouse mere minutes before being called into attendance.

“You have raised up fortifications with materials dragged from the land around us. From this place, you will hone your bodies, your minds, and your souls”. Sargeant Vehn said. “Astartes must be forged from the strongest of foundations. Here, in this place, you will either become the rock upon which a new Chapter is built or else be shattered and discarded. Welcome to Vehnholm, aspirants. Tomorrow we begin.”

The next day, the aspirants of Third Wing began their training in earnest under the watchful eye of Sergeant Vehn. At first light, each aspirant was given a special grav-harness **1** that could be adjusted to add additional weight to the wearer’s body. The Sergeant ordered that they would wear them during training unless directed to do otherwise. He then ordered them told to run through the forest to another clearing north of Vehnholm. With the equivalent of fifty extra pounds added to their frame they were to run a distance of ten kilometres. There, the Astartes would be waiting for them. Those aspirants who reached the clearing in less than an hour or less would be rewarded by running back to Vehnholm with the harness disabled. Those who took longer than an hour would have to continue to bear the weight on the return journey. That first day, the number of aspirants who made it to the clearing in the allotted time were few.

Upon completing this gruelling run in under three hours, a small meal consisting of a meat porridge waited for the aspirant. Sargeant Vehn allowed them to eat and rest until the third hour had passed before starting hand to hand combat training to round out the morning. The aspirants began to learn how to use their bodies both as offensive and defensive weapons. After a few hours of training, the Astartes selected pairs at random to spar against one another. Win or lose, Sargeant Vehn used these bouts to demonstrate to the aspirants both the successes and failures of the combatants. “Defeat and victory both offers valuable lessons to the warrior.” The Sergeant said. “Learn how to avoid the mistakes of the defeated. Learn how to improve upon the successes of the victorious.”

The aspirants were then given two hours within which to eat their mid-day meals and for the injured to receive the ministrations of the medicae before turning to afternoon training. During the afternoon, Sargeant Vehn began instructing them in the art of melee combat. As they all had been given combat knives as part of their basic kit, that’s where they started. As with the hand to hand combat training, the Astartes began to train them in the use of their knives. He drilled them hard commencing the process that would, once they became proficient, see them utilize the weapon like an extension of themselves. As the shadows began to lengthen Sargeant Vehn once again selected pairs at random to spar against one another. They had trained with live steel, and so, they would fight with live steel.

There were injuries, cuts and lacerations, but the space marine sergeant would intervene with superhuman speed on those few occasions were lives were threatened. The medicae staff on site had attended the bouts, ensuring that any wounds inflicted were resolved. Thanks to the Sargeant’s intervention, none of the injuries were so severe that any of the aspirants were unable to continue onto the last segment of the day’s training.

Once again, the grav-harnesses were engaged and the aspirants forced to run to the northern clearing. As before, those who made it in less than an hour would be rewarded while those who didn’t would be forced to make the run back with the harness engaged. Dinner awaited those who ran the full twenty kilometres in less than three hours. Those who did not would find themselves fighting over whatever scraps remained when they returned.

Though Vehnholm was now fortified, each Talon was required to station guards in shifts at one of the watchtowers. Saeg had made the decision that Talon two would rotate in pairs of two with each pair spending half the night as sentries. In this way, four of Talon Two’s aspirants would be on guard duty each night, and the remainder would be able to get a full night’s sleep. This rotation would see that so long as their numbers remained, the aspirants of Talon Two would be required to stand only two nights in a row.

For six days training followed the same pattern. On the morning of the seventh day, the Sergeant gathered the aspirants together around the Perch. “Third Wing, today is a special day!” He began, looking into the eyes of the youths nearest to the rock seeing the exhaustion and pain of tired bodies displayed on their faces. “Today, the seventh day will be a test of endurance unlike any you have ever faced. To the west, from Vehnholm, is an escarpment that rises three hundred feet from the surface of the forest floor. I will await you at the top. Those of you who can achieve this feat of strength will continue on with their training.”

“What will happen to those who fail?” Kevar of Talon Four asked.

The Astartes turned his head to look in his direction. “Those who fail will have proved themselves unworthy and be removed from Vehnholm.” He said ominously. “You will ascend without the use of rope or climbing tools. You all have been implanted with the knowledge required to do this feat. It represents the last of the knowledge granted to you while in stasis.”

Many of the aspirants looked at one another. “If we fall, Sargeant, what then?” Shere from Talon Three asked, concern making his voice sounding strained.

“Then may the Emperor grant that the fall either kills you outright or that any injuries you may suffer are minor enough you are able to ascend the escarpment wall.” Sergeant Vehn’s gaze roamed the gathering of aspirants. “This planet is populated by many life forms that are dangerous to unaugmented humans. One such species is called Oluje **2** by the native population of this part of the world. Injured, alone, and unable to make the ascent an aspirant would be fine prey. ”

“Why did they not attack before the palisade was constructed?” Brakus asked.

“Because they are apex predators. They hunt at night, possess superior senses, and are intelligent enough to strike only when they possess the advantage. The local population has good reason to fear them, but your numbers have been enough to keep them at bay.” Sargeant Vehn smiled with amusement. “Or maybe they are frightened of me.”

A few of the aspirants, Saeg and Ashur included, chuckled in response. “Will we be wearing the grav-harness’ Sargeant?” Saeg asked.

“Not this time, no. You may do this climb as unencumbered as you wish though I do suggest that you go armed.” Sargeant Vehn waited a few seconds. “You may proceed as soon as you are ready.”

Dismissed the aspirants returned to their roundhouses to gather what supplies or equipment they believed that they would need. Fifteen minutes later, the aspirants of Talon Two jogged out the gates of Vehnholm wearing only their combat webbing over their body gloves and their combat knives belted to their waists. A few minutes later Talons One and Four followed suit, their members. Most were equipped similarly to Talon Two, though few wore only their combat knives.

Sitting on the steps of the prefabricated hab unit, Abd al-Da’ud watched the aspirants of Third Wing as they made their way out the front of Vehnholm. Sipping at his cup of hot jaakka tea he noted that more than a few of the aspirants failed to bring a hydration pack, let alone two, with them. Hearing the sound of footsteps coming up from behind him he glanced over his shoulder. Senior Medicae Tessi Ambha walked towards him, a cup of recaff in her hand.

“Move over, Shel.” She said calling him by his cover identity’ name. She sat down beside him; he shuffled over on the step to make room. “They’ve started the Endurance?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I have the nasty suspicion that we’re going to lose some.”

“Sargeant Vehn thinks that likely as well.”

“It seems so wasteful.”

Ambha looked at him as she took a sip of her recaff. “They’re training to become Astartes, Shel. They take only the best.”

He nodded. “I know. I understand the reasoning. It just seems like… I don’t know. Brutal.” He sighed. “They’re just boys.” Abd’s teeth suddenly started to itch as a shadow fell over both the Senior Medicae and himself. He quickly turned his head to see Sargeant Vehn standing beside the stairs.

“You’re correct, Medicae Shel. On all counts.” The Raven Guard Sargeant said, his deep voice rumbling.

“I’m sorry my lord. I don’t believe that Medicae Shel means any offence or is questioning your methods.” Ambha said, giving Abd a small nudge with her elbow.

“No! Not at all!” Abd stammered unable to hold the gaze of the transhuman looking down at him.

The Astartes inclined his head. “None was taken Medicae. Mankind pays a high price for our place in the universe.” He said somberly. “Heavy is the duty of the Astartes and mankind cannot afford to elevate the weak or unfit into our ranks.”

“I understand.”

The Sargeant laid one hand on Abd’s shoulder, completely engulfing it with his ceramite gauntlet. “Take heart, not all who fail in the tests die. Some aspirants go on to serve the Chapter in other ways.”

Abd smiled slightly. “Thank you for telling me that Lord. That is some solace at least.”

The transhuman smiled in return. “Good. It will be many hours before I return.” Sargeant Vehn shifted his gaze to Ambha. “Senior Medicae, I do not know if any of the aspirants will return wounded or if any will lose their heart and return without having made an attempt at the escarpment.” He shook his head at the thought. “If any do, please be prepared to receive them.”

“Yes my lord.” She responded, bowing her head.

Turning, the Astartes left as quietly as he had arrived. Abd took a large gulp from his cup of tea pretending not to see the Senior Medicae giving him a look.

“That went well.” He said mildly.

Ambha snorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Grav-harness: A harness that is implanted with gravimetric engines in the form of small discs that can reduce or increase the weight of the object they are adhered to.  
> 2\. Oluje: Literally translated means Storm’s Hounds in the language of the native human population.


	12. Hunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talon Two have started the Endurance, a Forty Kilometer run through the forests surrounding Vehnholm culminating with an ascent up a 300-foot escarpment. However, the forests of Volos Secundus are home to the nocturnal apex predator, the Oluji. The reward for finishing? The continued chance to become one of the fabled Astartes. Aspirants will die before the end, will any of them be from Talon Two?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh... my current schedule is keeping me so busy that finding time to write is difficult. Between prepping everything for the move and working two jobs I feel like I have no time at all. So thank you, dear reader, for being patient.

The aspirants of Talon Two paced themselves from the very moment that they left Vehnholm. Six days of running a total of twenty kilometres under the burden of the grav-harnesses had given them an awareness of their limitations. They ran as a pack through the underbrush of the vast forest, keeping each other within view. It was a tactic that Brakus had suggested.

“In the hives of my homeworld, we quickly learn that there is safety in numbers.” He said as they were gathering their gear. “The apex predators of the hive are the other gangs and the cannibals of the lower levels.”

Manock had nodded in agreement. “No one survives the lower hives on their own. If these… Oluje… are as smart as the Sergeant said they we should stick together.”

Looking at the members of his Talon Saeg had nodded his assent. “Agreed. We run at the slowest member’s pace.” Lesin sighed. Lesin had been acting more and more with frustration and annoyance in the weeks since they had arrived. Saeg ignored him for the moment and continued. “ When we reach the escarpment, we’ll work in pairs to reach the summit.”

“Keep each other within view. If you notice someone missing, call out.” Ashur said.

Saeg nodded in agreement. “Let’s go.”

As they ran, members from other Talons could be seen through the trees pushing themselves hard. Most ran in small groups but some not heeding Sergeant Vehn’s warning, ran solo. Ehant, the leader of Talon Three was one such individual. He ran hard, his chest heaving like bellows as he pounded through the underbrush outpacing the rest of his Talon. Running full tilt through the forest underbrush was a bad idea. Roots, uneven ground, animal burrows, and sudden changes in elevation could lead to sprains or broken bones. Alone and separated from one’s fellows while in an environment with dangerous predators meant that even a minor injury could lead to one’s death.

Saeg slowed to a stop as he watched Ehant’s back recede into the forest.

“Why are we stopping?” Ashur asked as he and the rest of Talon Two arrived. They all seemed to be handling the exertion well.

Saeg waited until the members of his squad had joined him. “We’ve run ten kilometres or so. I want everyone to take a moment to catch their breath and to hydrate.” He said, taking a sip from his hydration pack.

“No need,” Lesin responded, a frown creasing his face. “We’re wasting time. Drink while you run.”

“It’s not a race, Lesin,” Trajen said. “Climbing up an unknown rockface three hundred feet will be exhausting in and of itself.”

“What would you know of it, shuggat?” Lesin retorted.

“My homeworld is a place of toxic seas and poisonous gases. Only those lands high above the gas clouds are safe, and so, we live amongst the mountains and high places of our world.” He smiled. “I learned to climb before I could walk.”

Lesin sneered at him. “Convenient.”

Trajen shrugged. “Heed my words, or don’t. I choose to conserve as much of my strength as I can for the climb.”

Saeg turned and looked at each member of his Talon in turn, looking at Lesin last. “We do this smart, we maximize our chances of survival.” He said. “We continue to take breaks and not push ourselves to our limits. We rest five more minutes, and then we’ll keep moving.”

“You can all sit here and wag your tongues all day for all I care!” Lesin said, sneer still on his face. “I’m not waiting for you.” The aspirant stepped around Saeg and started running again.

“Lesin! Wait!” Manock called starting after him. Brakus reached out and put a hand in front of him, blocking the way. Lesin looked over his shoulder and shook his head before sprinting off into the trees.

“Let him go Manock.” The big aspirant said.

“But..”

Brakus shook his head. “Lesin’s been chafing under the skin since Saeg took the lead.”

“Yeah,” Manock said “But he’s a brother Brakus! A Sump Snake, just like us!”

Brakus looked at Saeg for a moment before turning to Manock and laying his hands on his shoulders. “We’re not Sump Snakes anymore Manock. We’re aspirants of a space marine chapter now.”

Manock looked over Brakus’ shoulder at the spot where Lesin disappeared into the forest for a moment then sighed. “Okay, Brakus.”

The aspirants of Talon Two rested for five minutes before starting off again. As before they kept pace with the slowest of their number. Halfway to the escarpment, they stopped again for another break. This time they all consumed a few dried rations to keep their strength up. The run so far had been, and it would only get worse. The requirement to cover the forty kilometres to the escarpment before the sun started going down meant running a punishing gauntlet of uneven terrain through thick underbrush.

They pushed hard as the light shining through the forest branches began to wain despite the hour still being early. Saeg and his fellow aspirants started to notice the long shadows of early evening as the stopped for their third and final break. The thick canopy of leaves and tree limbs above filtered the available sunlight so that night seemed to fall sooner at the forest floor. “We’re running out of time,” Ashur said taking a sip of water and trying to stretch the soreness out of his legs.

“I know,” Saeg replied. “We should get to the escarpment within the next few hours.” Saeg looked out at the aspirants, chests heaving in and out as they caught their breaths. “Trajen,” He called.

“Yes, Saeg?”

“You said earlier that you learned to climb at a young age? What can you tell us that might help our survival?”

Trajen sipped at his hydration pack, his face thoughtful. “A couple of things, use your feet and legs to support you as you climb rather than your arms. Your forearms will tire far sooner than your legs so use them as much as you can for leverage and lifting yourself up. Keeping your body low and close to the rock face will help too.” He paused for a moment. “I’ll try and ascend first. If we have the time, watch how I move before following me. If you are feeling tired and have the opportunity to brace yourself to rest, do it.” He looked at Brakus. “Wrap your fingertips if you can. The rock will likely chew them up.” Trajen looked back at Saeg. “Other than that, take your time and choose the route that offers you the best support, even if it’ll take longer.”

Saeg nodded in return. “Alright Talon Two, we have ten kilometres until we reach the escarpment. Light is fading, and the Oluje will start hunting soon if what Sargeant Vehn said is true.” He looked into each of their faces, wondering if his appeared as tired and scared. “Stay together, and if needed, defend one another. Let’s go.” Saeg turned and led the way through the forest.

About four kilometres further into the forest the sounds of screaming echoed through the woods. Saeg held up a hand to signal that the rest of the group should stop. The screams were occasionally punctuated by an odd undulating bark that made Saeg’s hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He motioned for the rest of his Talon to wait and tapped Ashur and Nephis on the shoulder indicating that they should join him.

The three of them slowly and quietly crept towards the sounds of the screaming. After a minute, the scream came to a high pitched and wet sounding crescendo only to be silenced with a massive crunch. The aspirants looked at one another before lowering themselves to their bellies and slowly crawling forward.

After a few more feet, they were able to see what was occurring just beyond the underbrush. What they saw caused their stomach to drop. Nestled between the large roots of one of the massive trees, the feet of an aspirant could be seen just beyond the shadows. The feet shook, not with the force of life but with a violent motion that Saeg had witnessed once before. The aspirant was dead, and something was feeding on him.

Saeg gently tapped on the shoulders of his fellow aspirants, indicating that they needed to retreat from their current position. Ashur nodded, his face slightly grey and began to carefully move back through the underbrush. Nephis, though acknowledging the order, watched fascinated for a few moments longer until Saeg laid a hand on the young aspirant’s shoulder. He looked at the leader of Talon Two and mouthed the word “Oluje.” Saeg nodded in return, and the two of them retreated. When Saeg was confident, they were a safe distance the three aspirants stood and quickly returned to the group.

“Well?” Brakus asked. The sight of Ashur’s face ensured that he kept his ordinarily boisterous voice low.

“Oluje,” Nephis answered. “Or at least we think so. It was feeding on an aspirant.”

“Feth!” Elias cursed. “What now?”

Manock and Brakus shared a look. “Was it Lesin?” Manock asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” Saeg replied. “All we could see was the aspirant’s boots.” Saeg squinted up at the canopy above. “We’re running out of time. If the Oluje are out hunting already, that means that night isn’t far. Let’s move.”

“We’re not going to do anything?” Manock asked incredulously. “There are nine of us!”

Ashur shook his head. “We have no idea how many are out there. No one has ever seen them, and all we are armed with are our knives.”

Manock bunched his fists and looked like he was about to protest further when Brakus laid a hand on his shoulder. “Manock,” He said softly. “Whoever it is, we can’t help them.”

“We can avenge them!” He whispered hoarsely.

“We don’t know how many there are, what they look like, or how they fight.”

“I can’t stand by!” Manock shouted. The rest of the aspirants started looking around where they stood furtively. The noises of the forest had quieted.

Saeg stared off into the direction they had crawled. “Then you’ll die Manock.” He said simply. “I’m a trained hunter. I’ve brought down predators and prey alike, and I wouldn’t go charging into the forest to avenge someone already dead.” He turned his gaze to his fellow aspirant. “You might get lucky and kill it while it feeds, but you’ll die all the same when it’s fellows come.”

“That could be Lesin out there!”

“It could,” Saeg agreed. “It could also be Ehant or any of the other aspirants who ran off solo.”

“We should help them!” Manock said, an anguished tone in his voice. “Whoever that was, they’re more than just meat!”

Nephis and Kephis looked at one another. “We’re all meat,” Kephis said. “In the end, once the Emperor draws our souls back to him. That’s all we are. Meat.”

Elias shook his head. “We’re losing daylight.”

“Agreed,” Saeg said. The leader of Talon Two looked at Manock. “I am not risking the lives of this Talon just to ease your mind Manock. We’re going, and if you don’t want to come with us, then you’ll be just as dead as that corpse being fed on.”

Manock stared at him angrily for a moment, his fists bunched ready to throw a punch when suddenly he relaxed. “This isn’t over Seag.” He said, his voice dripping with anger.

“No. I imagine not.” Saeg said. “Let’s go.” He turned and started running again without waiting to see if the aspirants would follow him. A few minutes later, Ashur caught up to him as did Brakus.

“You’re a cold bastard Saeg,” Brakus said between breaths.

“Is he following?”

“Yes,” Ashur responded.

“Then I am what I needed to be,” Saeg said.

Talon Two continued to run through the forest and as the ground’s incline began to increase as they exited the forest proper. The escarpment rose out of the rocky ground about two hundred yards from the edge of the forest, it’s face illuminated by the red and golds of the setting sun reflected on it and the dark clouds above it. “Holy Emperor!” Elias whispered as he came out of the forest.

The escarpment was a sheer face of rock that had been thrust out of the surface of Volos Secundus. It rose at least three hundred feet as far as the eye could see. Trajen looked at it with a calm appraising eye. The rest of Talon Two looked at it with fear and concern. Brock, who had the best eyesight out of all the aspirants in the Talon, was staring about a quarter of the way up the face. “I see climbers. Not many though.”

Trajen looked at him. “How are they doing?”

“Hard to tell from here but either we beat a lot of the other Talons here or we are the last to arrive.”

“Let’s go,” Saeg said. “It’ll be dark soon, and those clouds don’t look friendly either.” The rest of the Talon, even Manock nodded their agreement, and with limbs already heavy with exhaustion, the continued to run up the slope to the base of the escarpment.

When they arrived at the base, they made a grisly discovery. Among the rocks, the bodies of four aspirants lay broken and shattered. Nephis, began examining the bodies, looking at their bracers and weapons. He turned over the last of the body’s and down at the bracer on the shattered limb. With a sigh, he removed it and undid the belt and battered knife scabbard. They all stared at him as he approached Manock and Brakus. “I’m sorry.” He said as he held them out to the two former Sump Snakes.

Manock took the bracer and looked at the name engraved on it. “Lesin,” he said softly after a minute. Brakus looked over at him and then took the knife, and its belt from Nephis’ hands. “We need to bury him.”

Ashur looked at him. “What?”

“We need to bury him,” Brakus said.

“We don’t have time.”

The big aspirant looked at him. “We’ll make time. We’ll build him a small Cairn.”

Ashur looked at Saeg who was watching the pair. “Saeg?”

He sighed and looked at the rapidly setting sun. “Alright. Everyone quickly gathers stones, and let’s build this quickly.”

As the sun continued to sink below the horizon, Manock and Brakus laid their former gang brother on a small flat stone shelf. They straightened his broken limbs as best they could. Wordlessly, Talon Two constructed Lesin’s cairn around him at the foot of the escarpment. They piled on the stone until his body was entirely obscured. By the time that they were finished, the sun had nearly sunk below the horizon, and only the faintest of reds and golds stained the sky. Brock came to stand beside Saeg who was watching the treeline.

“Can you see them as well?” Saeg asked.

“Yes, though not clearly. Whatever they are, they seem to be hanging back in the shadows.” The other aspirant said.

Saeg glanced over at the Cairn, and the aspirants gathered around it. “Do we outnumber them? I thought I saw four shapes in the trees, but they are moving back and forth.”

“We outnumber them as far as I can tell. There are four, maybe five of the beasts.” Brock whistled softly. “Yeah, four of them. Three smaller ones and one larger one.”

“I see it,” Saeg replied. As the largest of the forms stepped fully out from the underbrush. He knew an alpha when he saw it.

The Oluje was a bipedal creature standing four feet at the shoulder on powerful looking hind legs. Its forelegs were smaller and shorter than the hind ones, but were still powerful looking and tipped with four curved blade-like talons. While the face long and reptilian with a fanged maw, the Oluje’s body was covered with what looked like fur in patterns that made it almost disappear in the surrounding foliage. Unlike the smaller ones, the alpha’s head was dominated by a row of flexible spikes running from its brow down its back.

The alpha lifted it’s head and made that strange undulating bark and started stalking towards the escarpment. Three, then four, then five and then finally six, of the smaller Oluje exited from the underbrush. The alpha lifted it’s head as if it were sniffing the air before making another of those undulating bark. Low to the ground, the Oluje started running towards the escarpment in the direction of the aspirants.

Saeg and Brock began to back towards the face of the cliff. Glancing over his shoulder, Saeg looked at Trajen and the rest of Talon Two. “We’ve run out of time. Climb!”


	13. Endurance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has run out for Talon Two. Ordering Brakus to leave him behind, Saeg resolves to sell himself as dearly as possible to give his fellow aspirants time to ascend the rock face of the escarpment to relative safety. Blood and pain are now all that remains.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! So much has happened in the month and seventeen days that have elapsed since the last chapter was posted! We moved to a new home, and as you can imagine, packing and unpacking over eight years don't happen overnight! That said, I'm working to get back on track. Thanks for hanging in there!

Trajen rushed towards the face of the escarpment as he wrapped material cut from the bodygloves of one of the fallen aspirants around his fingers. He quickly began to scale the rock face, experience giving his movements alacrity. The others followed his path as closely as they could but their numbers, as well as the rapidly approaching Oluje, meant that they need to either spread out or risk waiting. Most of Talon Two elected to attempt different paths to scale the rock face rather than wait. However, even those paths were limited, and so Brakus and Saeg stood with their backs facing the escarpment.

“Brakus, go,” Saeg ordered as he drew his combat knife.

Brakus looked down at him, also drawing his knife. “I think I’ll just wait right here if you don’t mind.”

Saeg looked up at the escarpment, watching the progress of the members of Talon Two as they climbed before looking back at the bigger aspirant. “Only enough room for one right now, Brakus and that’s you.”

Brakus glanced back over his shoulder at the rock face. “Doesn’t seem right, you waiting for me when you could but up that rock face already.”

Saeg was quiet for a moment as he watched the alpha Oluje charging ahead of the rest of its pack. It’s legs tearing up the rocky ground as it thundered towards them. “Give me Lesin’s knife.”

“What?” Brakus exclaimed looking at him in surprise.

Saeg refused to take his eyes off of the Oluje. “Brakus, what you said to Manock when he wanted to chase after Lesin and then again after we found Lesin here; you’d make a fine leader. I’m only leading because I beat you in a feat of arms.” He reached out with his empty hand.

“Saeg…”

“Give me Lesin’s knife,” he repeated. “Climb and don’t look back no matter what you hear.” Still, Brakus hesitated. Saeg turned his gaze from the Oluje to Brakus. “Give me the knife and go!” He thundered at the larger aspirant.

Brakus stood for a moment longer, looking into the intensity in Saeg’s eyes, seeing the storm of emotion that roiled there. Drawing the knife from its sheath, Brakus placed it hilt first in Saeg’s hand. “I’ll be waiting up top.” He said and turned without waiting for a response.

Saeg turned back to look at the vicious creature thundering up the slope. Behind him, he could hear the sounds of Brakus making his way up the rock face. He wouldn’t have enough time to escape himself. The sounds of rock and earth sliding after being knocked loose by Brakus’ ascent was much louder than the others had been. Sighing, Saeg rolled his shoulders and prepared to sell his life as dearly as possible.

Saeg started walking down the slope towards the alpha Oluje intending to meet it slightly further away from the cliff face to both give himself more room to maneuver and ensure that the Brakus had enough time to climb out of the reach of the rest of the pack. The beast let loose its undulating cry as the gap between them closed. In response, Saeg started running toward the Oluje closing the gap.

The alpha struck quickly, it’s front claws slashing in a brutal arc meant to disembowel him. However, for Saeg, it seemed time had slowed down as his adrenaline had risen and he had started moving out of the way before the slash had even begun. As he twisted outside of the alpha’s strike, he pivoted and slashed out at the Oluje’s flank with Lesin’s knife. The monomolecular edge parted the furred skin leaving a long line of crimson, but Saeg had misjudged the distance, and so the wound was not very deep.

The alpha shrieked in pain and whirled on the spot, slashing at Saeg again. He tried to get out of the way of the strike but felt the scree beneath his feet slide as he twisted and lost his balance. Pain, sharp and bright, burst across the left side of Saeg’s forehead as the Oluje’s claw tore across it. The contact was miraculously brief and somehow left only a shallow laceration. Blood washed down Saeg’s face and into his eye, temporarily blinding him.

Too close!

Saeg tried to put some distance between himself and the alpha, blinking blood out of his eyes. The other Oluje had surrounded the conflict and lunged and snapped at him as he made space, effectively corraling him. The alpha Oluje crouched slightly and observed Saeg, purposely stalking him rather than just attacking outright. Saeg’s heart thundered in his chest. Even if he somehow continued to survive the alpha’s attacks, the rest of the pack would eventually attack him.

Now the entire pack of Oluje seemed to be toying with him, like felines playing with their prey before killing it. Wearing it down while getting as much amusement from the kill as they possibly could. They skipped in and clawed and nipped at his extremities before dancing back from his attempts to wound them. Never quite getting close enough to actually leave deep wounds or be injured in return. They were killing him with thousands of small cuts, bleeding him until the moment came that their enjoyment of the sport was sated.

With the certainty of death looming before him, Seag found his last moments with his little family flashing before his eyes. His mother Irina stood proudly, her hands on Kaven’s shoulders and her eyes red from unshed tears. Unlike their mother, Kaven’s eyes were streaked with tears. Though full of tears, Kaven’s eyes shone with pride at his older brother. His father Tomas sat in the wheeled apparatus the local Apothecary had constructed for him since losing his leg in the Smildon attack a year ago and looked up at his eldest son. A fierce pride burned in Tomas’ gaze as he raised his hand and held it out to his son.

Saeg’s gaze was drawn to the item that rested in his father’s palm, a carved talisman on a leather thong. The amulet had been cunningly carved from both the bone of Tomas’ ruined leg and fang of the Smildon who had taken it into the likeness of the Imperial Aquila ** 1 ** . The bone carved into the likeness of the sighted eagle’s head and the fang carved into the blinded eagle’s head.

As the memory started to fade, Saeg once more heard his father’s words. “By the grace of the Emperor, live!”

Saeg’s vision returned to the future as the Alpha Oluje launched itself at him, noting his distracted state. The rest of the pack echoed it’s fierce and undulating cry as it lunged at him, barreling into him and knocking him from his feet. His chest burned with the pain of broken ribs as his breath was knocked from his chest. The animal reptilian smell of the Oluje filled his nose as it lunged at him and Saeg screamed as he rolled away from its strike.

It struck again carving deep and bloody furrows in Saeg’s chest. His breath sawed in and out as the force of the blow tortured his already wounded chest. All sound faded in his ears, and creeping darkness began to claw at Saeg’s vision. He struggled madly as the Oluje lunged in again at him and landed a lucky blow that took the Alpha’s eye. Saeg struggled to his feet, slipping in the loose scree of the escarpment. He screamed again and stumbled as something, possibly one of the other Oluje, struck him from behind and knocked him to the ground.

The sound of massive wings echoed in his ears as he raised himself back up to his hands and knees. Blood dripped steadily from his wounds. Seag turned to see the Alpha stomping madly and shrieking in pain as blood sheeted from it’s ruined eye. As it thrashed, something blood-stained and swinging wildly from one of its claws caught Saeg’s eye; the talisman. It had been ripped Saeg’s neck when the monster had struck his chest.

The air around Saeg and the Oluje began to steam as the temperature dropped dramatically. Frost crawled across the ground spreading our from Saeg, freezing the blood spilt on the ground. The Alpha Oluje fixed the young aspirate with a hateful gaze with its remaining eye as a deep growl escaped Saeg’s lips. The sharp scent of ozone replaced the hot smell of his own blood in Saeg’s nose as he stared at the carved Imperial Aquilla. Both Saeg’s and the Oluje’s breath because visible in the air as the temperature continued to drop around them.

Saeg’s heart thundered in his chest, and the skin all over his body tingled as the Alpha took a single, menacing step forward. For a moment, Saeg heard his father’s voice, like a whisper on the wind. “Live!” The Alpha screamed and charged him, and Saeg roared his defiance in return.

************************************

Brakus climbed for all he was worth. His arms burned with the strain of lifting his frame up the stone face of the escarpment at the pace he was keeping. He ignored the sounds of the combat below him as best he could; resolved not to waste Saeg’s sacrifice. Screams echoed up from the base of the escarpment, and despite Saeg’s instructions to the contrary, Brakus looked over his shoulder to see what was going on. The strain nearly caused him to lose his grip.

He pulled himself close to the rock face, adrenaline surging through his body as the sounds of the combat echoed up to him. There was no way he could dangle from the face of the escarpment safely and look down and below himself. What he had seen briefly did not bode well for his fellow aspirant. As a Sump Snake, Brakus had been raised to believe in the sanctity of a Warrior’s Death in the eyes of the Emperor. Now, at this moment, the need to witness Saeg’s end gnawed at him.

He continued to climb, testing his foot and handholds as he did. The sounds of the combat below becoming more fierce and more distant. After another few feet of climbing, a ledge, just narrow enough for him to rest on became visible. The former ganger whispered a prayer of thanks to the Emperor and after testing the strength of the ledge, put his full wait on it to rest. Slowly and carefully, Brakus turned to look upon the conflict below.

Immediately he could see how desperate the situation was. Saeg was surrounded by the Oluje pack, who lunged with the intention of wounding him rather than clean kills. Brakus watched the Alpha stalk the youth who had paused for a heartbeat. “Saeg!” He yelled in warning, despite the distance between them. As the Alpha knocked the aspirant down, Brakus clenched his fists in frustration, and a hateful breath hissed from between clenched teeth as the claws of the Oluje struck Saeg while he attempted to rise.

“Yes!” He cried as Saeg took the Alpha’s eye as it tried to lunge at him again. As the rest of the pack started moving Brakus knew that his fellow aspirant would soon be torn apart under the monster’s teeth and claws. One of the Oluje rammed it’s head into Saeg’s back as he tried to get up on his hands and knees as the Alpha shrieked as thrashed in pain. Once again, Saeg attempted to get to his feet, this time succeeding. The pack all took a step back widening the circle and giving the Alpha room.

Saeg turned and paused, looking at the Alpha but doing nothing. The moment stretched into what seemed like an eternity “What are you waiting for Saeg?” He yelled, “Strike!” The Alpha Oluje gathered itself and looked at the aspirant with its uninjured eye. They stood there, staring at one another for a long moment before the Alpha charged Saeg, screaming loudly enough that Brakus heard it clearly from where he stood. At the moment the monster charged at him, Saeg roared in defiance in return.

Brakus caught the scent of burning metal the moment before a column of cerulean lightning ripped down from the heavens to strike the ground where Saeg and the Pack of Oluje fought. He yelled both in surprise and fear, nearly tumbling from the narrow ledge upon which he stood. The flash from the lightning strike had been so bright that for a few seconds, the aspirant was blinded. He stood there, unable to move, as thunder echoed across the escarpment like the voice of an angry god.

As his vision cleared, he looked back down at the site of the combat. What he saw there wrenched a surprised gasp from his lips. Saeg stood surrounded by the blackened corpses of the Oluje. As Brakus watched, the aspirant slowly collapsed to his knees and remained there, unmoving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Imperial Aquila: Meaning of – During the times before the Horus Heresy, the two-headed eagle was blind-folded on one side, and the other had eyes. The backward facing sighted side represented looking back into the past, while the forward facing blinded eagle was looking into the future. The blinded side also looks more armoured than the sighted one, representing that, although the future is unforeseen, the blinded side is better prepared; learning from the mistakes of the past


	14. Ascent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brakus faces his greatest challenge yet.  Ascending the face of the escarpment with the body of Saeg lashed to his back. Three hundred feet carrying a brother's burden upon his back.  Honor and duty can require the greatest of sacrifices, question one's loyalty, and one's self.  Will the endurance claim another of Talon Two's lives? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seem to have written another chapter sooner than I thought.  It's even longer than most!  I guess I'm going to post it.  There's also another story in the works too, The Court Martial of Feodor Tspesh.  Who is this guy??

Sargeant Vehn was standing beside the Thunderhawk gunship atop the escarpment when the first aspirant’s hand appeared.  He watched as the aspirant slowly hauled himself above the lip of the face onto the cliff top and collapsed, his feet dangling over the edge.  After a moment the aspirant, shakingly dragged himself away from the edge as carefully as his exhausted muscles would allow. When he was a sufficient distance away from the side, Sargeant Vehn walked over to him and helped him stand. “Congratulations on being the first, Aspirant Stevh of Talon Three,” he said in his deep transhuman voice. “Make your way to the Thunderhawk and wait inside.  The medical servitor within will have water and nutrient paste should you require nourishment. Follow it’s instructions.” Too tired to do anything but nod, the aspirant slowly made his way towards the Thunderhawk.

Over the next two hours, additional aspirants made it to the summit.  Each was exhausted, and identity of very few surprised him. The nature of the face of the escarpment was that there were very few routes available to the aspirants that would successfully bring them to the summit.  Those who choose their paths poorly would have to navigate their way across the rock face towards a specific portion of the ascent or else face a challenge that all but the most experienced climbers would struggle with.   How many of the aspirants would lose their grip and fall to their doom, attempt to return to Vehnholm, or face the predation of the Oljue would remain unknown until he returned to the settlement.

At this stage of the training, the Sargeant expected to lose at least thirty percent of the aspirants. Emperor willing, that number would be less, but it just as easily could be more.  As the sun continued its march across the sky and then towards the horizon, the frequency of aspirants pulling themselves up over the edge of the cliff top began to lessen. Oddly, not a single member of Talon Two had yet to make an appearance.

“Sargent Vehn,” The voice of Epistolary Zar whispered over the vox.

“Acknowledged, Epistolary,” he replied.

“I can feel a localized warp disturbance beginning to form in the vicinity of your position. It’s strong, and gaining strength.”

The clouds around the escarpment rapidly began to darken the sky.  The Astartes looked up towards them. “Brother, something is happening to the clouds.” he voxed.  “Can you tell what is occurring?”

Whatever the librarian’s response was, it was drowned out by a machine squeal and static as a great column of lightning of cerulean blue that momentarily connected the earth with the sky.  The noise alone was deafening, and despite the enhanced nature of his eyes, Sargeant Vehn was forced to close his eyes against the sudden brightness.

“Brother?”The Librarian asked as the vox connection was automatically re-established. “Sergeant Vehn?  What happened?”

The Astartes walked to the edge and looked down towards the base of the cliff, the sound of the thunder echoing around him. “A column of lighting, easily as wide as a Land Speeder, and un-naturally blue just struck the base of the escarpment,” He reported.

“Acknowledged Brother-Sargeant,” Zar responded. “I will investigate.  Continue your exercise but wait for my command before deciding to leave.”

“Understood, Epistolary,”  Sargeant Vehn responded, turning to look at the fear-ridden face of another aspirant ten meters below him and to his left before rising and stepping back from the edge. “I await your order.”

***************************************************

Everything hurt.  Everything. From the tips of his toes to his teeth, even to his hair. Every particle of his being hurt.  The pain became bled into exhaustion so complete he could feel it all the way into his soul. The smell of burned flesh overwhelmed his sense of smell, and his mouth tasted of it and blood. When he tried to open his eyes, he found that he didn’t possess the strength to do even that. What happened? He asked himself.

Through the pain and weariness, he sensed movement near him.  Someone or something slid in the scree momentarily before righting itself and approached slowly. There was momentary contact on his shoulder, and he screamed violently with the sudden agony; his voice tearing from his throat unbidden.  “Sweet Emperor,” a voice he knew he should recognize but couldn’t place whispered in awe. He gurgled in response, the effort of screaming having drained all remaining strength from his battered body. “How are you alive?” The voice asked, sounding far away.  The pain faded as Seag once again lost consciousness.

***************************************************

As Brakus’ feet touched the stone at the foot of the escarpment, the big aspirant felt a sense of relief.  The climb down from the ledge had been far worse than the climb up had been. In the waning light, he could see Saeg’s motionless body lying further down the slope at the center of a blackened circle of scorched stone. Around him lay the charred remains of the pack of Oluje.  Brakus hurried down the slope, slipping and sliding on the loose rocks and earth. As he approached the circle the smell of burned flesh and hot metal stung his nose.

He watched the corpse of the Alpha Oluje for a few moments, cautiously drawing his blade while looking for signs of life from the monstrous form.  The creature’s mouth was opened towards the sky, it’s claws and talons blackened and twisted from the power of the lightning that had struck it. Steam escaped from the cracked and burned skin.  The smaller Oluje lying scattered around the circle were similarly twisted and blackened, their flesh as just as ruined as their Alpha. Wherever it had come from, the column of lightning had killed them all.

Brakus sheathed his knife and cautiously approached the motionless form of his Talonmate.  Unlike the Oluje surrounding him, Saeg appeared miraculously free burns. The only wounds on his body caused by the claws of the Oluje.  He reached down to touch Saeg’s shoulder and recoiled slightly when the aspirant screamed in agony. “Sweet Emperor,” he whispered. “How are you alive?” he asked as he looked in Saeg’s eyes, now opened and staring into nothing. Mumbling and gurgling in his throat, Saeg appeared to attempt to respond before his eyes rolled back into his head and he went limp.  Brakus checked his pulse and breathed a sigh of relief. Saeg still lived, though his pulse was thready and his breathing, erratic.

The last of the orange glow from the setting sun was beginning to fade, leaving unusual patterns of shadows and highlights on the escarpment and the slope leading up to it.  Brakus looked from the face of the escarpment to Saeg’s motionless form then back up the slope. As he stared, something flashed in the dying light further west along the base of the escarpment from where Talon Two had ascended.  

He looked around at the ground for Saeg’s and Lesin’s blades.  _  I can’t leave him here _ . He thought as scanned the earth around him.   _ He risked himself for me, for everyone else.  We owe him _ . Standing, he began to search the area around where the combat had taken place.  I’m going to have to carry him up the escarpment. I can’t leave him here, he’d be Oluje fodder before long. Brakus approached the body of the Alpha Oluje; wrinkling his nose at the aweful combination of the animal’s musk and its charred flesh.

After a few moments inspecting it, he found both blades lodged into the body of the Alpha Oluje, their handles scorched and blackened.  They were still warm to the touch when he pulled them from the corpse. Lesin’s he returned to its sheath hanging opposite from his own on his hips, tapping it twice in the manner of his old gang’s traditions.

Returning to Saeg’s side, Brakus sheathed the aspirant’s knife in its scabbard and then lifted him into his arms.  _ Good thing he’s smaller _ , he thought to himself as he carried Saeg up the slope towards where he considered the source of the reflected light was. As he approached the base of the escarpment, the source of the reflection revealed itself.  Brakus stared at the two ruptured and twisted forms of his fellow aspirants at where they lay at the base of the rock face. He gently put Saeg on the ground before taking a deep breath and approaching the pair of corpses.

Growing up in the Underhive, one tends to become intimate with the various faces of death.  Brakus had seen the results of a long fall onto an unforgiving surface numerous times before.  On one occasion he had even stripped the body of what valuables he could along with the rest of the scum of the Underhive who were witness to the tragedy.  The many visages of death were hardly a stranger to him. Still, he paused for a moment, murmuring a short prayer to the Emperor before rummaging through the remains for anything he could use.

Wrapped around the bodies, Brakus discovered a length of hand-made rope twisted from vegetable matter.  It seemed likely that one of the two aspirants had lost their footing or grip and dragged the other to their shared demise.  The irony of the similarities between what he intended and the fate of the two aspirants was not lost on him. It was very possible that Brakus’ strength would fail him.  He looked up at the rockface for a moment, considering the ordeal before him, then cut loose the rope from the corpses.

Returning to Seag’s unconscious form, he began to wrap a length of the rope around Seag’s wrists tying them with the most secure knot he knew.  He quickly returned to the corpses and, following Trajen’s example, cut strips of the bodyglove material to wrap his hands and fingers. Satisfied that his hands were as protected as they could be, Brakus hefted Saeg’s arms around his neck.  Standing, he found wrapped Saeg’s legs around his waist and using what remained of the rope tied them around him as solidly as possible before testing the strength of the knots. Satisfied that they would bear the strain of Saeg’s body walked up to the rock face. As the last vestiges of the sun slipped behind the horizon, Brakus started climbing.

As he climbed the excited undulating barks of more Oluje echoed up to him from the forest edge.  “No choice now but up,” he said to himself.

***************************************************

Brakus had been climbing now for close to two hours, continually fighting the drag of Saeg’s dead weight on his back.  He took every opportunity to rest that the face of the escarpment gave him. He did not allow himself to look down to see how far he’d come, nor attempt to look any further up the rock face than he needed to plan the next few minutes of the climb.  He kept himself focused on the task of making it up the escarpment one foot at a time.

His arms and legs burning with lactic acid, Brakus stood on a narrow ledge, leaning his forehead against the cold rock.  His breath sawed in and out of his lungs in ragged gasps as he fought to catch his breath. He wanted nothing more than to sit and rest but he feared the genuine possibility of being unable to stand again if he did.  

Brakus could feel Saeg’s breath against his neck, and part of him considered what he would do if that were to change.  Would he continue trying to reach the summit of the escarpment with his Talonmate’s dead weight tied to his back? Or would his Underhiver’s survival instinct overwhelm the debt he felt he owed Saeg and cut him lose to tumble to the base of the escarpment, food for the Oljue far below?

The echoes of screams and the thumps and scrapes of a body falling and crashing against the rock face had reached him periodically as he climbed.   _ How many has this challenge claimed already _ ? He thought to himself. How long until it claims either or both of us?  The warmth of the sun had long passed, and a chilled ache was slowly claiming his muscles.  If he didn’t start moving again soon, they would begin to cramp up, and the likelihood of falling to his death would go from likely to certainty.

The hard beat of wings to his right caught Brakus’ attention.  There, sitting on a small outcropping of stone sat a large black bird.  It’s stiff feather’s were a glossily iridescent black, and it’s sharp beak a deep charcoal black.  It sat there regarding him with intelligent brown eyes that, frankly, made the Underhiver uncomfortable.  It was like the bird was looking into his soul.

“If I only had wings like yours and the ability to fly,”  Brakus said wearily. “But wishing doesn’t make it so.” The bird, turned it’s head listening and then cawed, seemingly in agreement.  It gave the aspirant one final look and then leapt from the outcropping and soared off into the darkening sky. Brakus watched it fly away until it became a speck in the distance.  The ache in his arms and legs had mostly subsided by this point, and Brakus saw no reason to continue delaying. He reached up to the next potential handhold and then using his legs, lifted himself up.  Moving slowly and purposefully, Brakus continued his ascent.

After continuing to climb an unknown amount of time, his arms and legs burned with the effort.  The rock had long since worn away the protection provided by the strips of fabric and was now biting into his flesh.  Exhaustion washed through his body, mind, and soul like the rising tide; lapping at his musculature and will, slowly eroding it.  

The last remnants of light had long since passed, and even though the surface of the rock was slightly illuminated through some unknown process, Brakus found himself unable to see much above him.  He had no idea how much further he had to climb. He found himself looking to the knife strapped to his forearm.

Despair tore at him as surely as Saeg’s weight tore the muscles of his arms and legs.  His burden’s breath, soft against his neck and the only sign that the aspirant still lived, was quickly becoming less of a deterrent as the threat to his own life increased exponentially.  If death was a surety, would it not be better to sacrifice one so that the other had the chance at life? Brakus slowly inched his left and towards where the knife was strapped to his left forearm until he was able to touch the blackened hilt.  He drew the blade with pain numbed fingers until it was partially withdrawn from its sheath. There, visible on the metal through the scoring, was the engraving that marked the blade as Lesin’s.

Brakus started at the engraving for a long moment; the burning in his muscles temporarily forgotten.  Lesin had died because he foolishly abandoned the Talon for his own selfish needs. Saeg had sacrificed himself to buy Brakus and the others time.  That Saeg still lived was a miracle in and of itself. Sliding the knife back into its sheath, Brakus whispered to himself. “I would rather die attempting to save my brother, than live trying to save myself at their expense.”  He reached up and felt for the next handhold he prayed was above him. Legs trembling with the strain, Brakus lifted himself up another foot and then another.

On and on the aspirant climbed, his perceptions shrinking to encompass only the next foot of the rock.  The next handhold. The next breath that wheezed out of his lungs. His heart hammering in his chest at the strain,  he pushed himself forward until at last his strength gave out and Brakus felt himself starting to slip. Seag’s weight dragged at him, pulling his other hand away from the rock face.  Brakus felt his fingers lose their purchase as he and Saeg began to fall. Terror should have claimed him, should have torn a scream from his throat but all that escaped it was a sigh.  

“Forgive me, brother,” Brakus whispered to Saeg. Suddenly, their fall was arrested as an iron-firm grip encircled his arm.

“Not today Aspirant Brakus,”  The transhuman rumble of Sargeant Vehn’s voice reached him. “Today, you live.”

 


	15. Service or Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Failure. For the best of us, failure is bitter fruit. For those under consideration for elevation to the ranks of the Astartes, that fruit can not only be bitter but also fatal. There are, however, worse things than death. Narrowly avoiding death, Saeg must now face the consequences of his choice to remain behind and buy time for Talon Two's members.

A soft tone that chimed in regular intervals was the first thing to intrude itself upon his consciousness. The second was the bone-deep ache that pervaded his sense of self. The first conscious breath he took was laced with the pungent scent of medical incense. The act of open his eyes halfway took a degree of effort that surprised him. As did the sudden revelation of a coppery taste in his mouth.

“Welcome back to the land of the living aspirant,” said a voice he did not recognize but rumbled with the bass of the transhuman space marines. “You very nearly left us for good.”

He slowly turned his head enough to look at the speaker. Like Sargeant Vehn, the eyes were dark and his skin pale and scarred by battle. The black embossed battle plate, similar to that worn by the Sergeant, bore significantly more iconography and ornate scroll-work. The closely shaved head of the space marine was framed by an elaborate crown of crystal and circuitry, unlike anything he had seen before. A fragment of memory whispered that he had seen this particular Astartes before, but the details slipped away as quickly as they came.

“I am Enoc Zar, a Librarian of the Third Company of the Raven Guard Chapter. What is your name aspirant?

He grasped at another fragment of memory. “I… I do not remember,” he said distractedly. “I should know my name.”

The crystals set into the crown glowed faintly for a moment. Zar nodded thoughtfully. “Your memory will return in time.” He said. “Your name is Saeg, you are a former aspirant of Talon Two, Third Wing under the command and tutelage of Sergeant Vehn.”

“My name is Saeg,“ he said. The name felt right, felt like it belonged to him, but true ownership of it escaped him for the moment still. “Former?” Saeg asked after a moment.

The Librarian nodded. “Yes. The circumstances surrounding your progress through the Endurance precipitated your removal from the Talon and Third Wing.”

“I don’t understand,” Saeg admitted.

“You will in time.” Epistolary Zar said as he slowly stood, the joints of his armour purring in as its joints matched his motion. “For now, rest.”

As the Astartes left the room, Seag felt the draw of exhaustion rise up to pull him into the depths of sleep.

********************************************

Senior Medicae Ambha and Medicae Shel were both waiting by the duty desk just outside of the wardroom of Vehnholm’s Medicae facility. As the Raven Guard approached them, his heavy tread vibrated through the prefab floorboards. He stopped before them and nodded cordially to both. “Senior Medicae Ambha, Medicae Shel,” he said in greeting.”

“Lord,” They responded in unison.

“When will Gamma Sixteen be well enough to be transported to the  _ Umbra Rex _ ?”

“Within a day or two more my Lord,” Ambha responded. “Aspirant Brakus, Gamma Fourteen, has already returned to Talon Two.”

Enoc Zar nodded thoughtfully. “As soon as he is ready to transport, please ensure that he is.”

“Yes, my Lord.” Both Medicae acknowledged in unison.

“Until then, see that he is kept separate from the rest of the Wing unless necessity demands otherwise.” Satisfied that his order would be carried out, the Astartes went to leave.

“My Lord,” Abd called out just before he reached the entrance.

The Librarian stopped, and half turned. “Yes, Medica Shel?” The Astartes weighty dark gaze made Abd nervous for the first time he had assumed the guise of Medicae Abd Shel.

“Does…does Gamma Sixteen present a danger to the Wing?” He stammered, looking aside at the Ambha. Senior Medicae Ambha glared back at him.

“I think what Medica Shel is asking is if he presents any risk that would precipitate quarantine procedures, my Lord?” She asked after a moment.

Shaking his head, the Space Marine ignored the insult implied by Medicae Shel’s questioning of his orders. “No, Senior Medicae. I simply do not wish him to become agitated more than is needful. These are his last few days of peace. If there is nothing else?”

“No my Lord,” Ambha said, once again glaring at Abd.

“Then I bid you good day.” The Librarian said before exiting the building.

Ambha waited until the door closed behind the space marine before fixing Abd with an incredulous look. “What in the name of the Emperor possessed you to ask if he presented a danger to the rest of us?”

“Well,” Abd started to reply. “He did collapse under extreme circumstances. Maybe he caught something out in the woods, or maybe the wounds he suffered fighting the Oulje were rife with some bio-toxin?”

Ambha stared at him for a moment before walking away muttering about needing to go check on the patient’s vitals. Abd al-Da’ud watched her stalk away, a slight smile on his face. When the Senior Medicae was out of sight, he began to organize the duty desk, collecting the data-slates and slotting them into their charging ports before looking thoughtfully at the door. “Last days of peace,” he said quietly to himself. These turn of events would surely interest the Inquisitor.

*********************************************

Two days later, his memory mostly returned, Saeg found himself aboard a Thunderhawk gunship along with a score of other aspirants bound for the Space Marine Battle Barge – The  _ Umbra Rex _ . Many of his fellow aspirants showed signs of wounds, most superficial. Ehant from Talon Three sat beside him. Evidently, he too had failed the Endurance. The once cocky leader of Talon Three had looked at him blankly as he had sat down but said nothing. His gaze was forward, a dead look on his face that Saeg couldn’t quite place.

After the final few aspirants boarded the gunship, the rear ramp closed with the hiss of pressurization seals engaging. As the Thunderhawk started to lift off, Saeg and the other aspirants were pushed down into their seats as the great vehicle thrust itself from the ground. Looking around the hold, he realized that all of the aspirants had the same dumb look on their faces.

“Ehant,” he said unsure if his voice was loud enough to be heard over the sound of the screaming engines. When the aspirant failed to respond, he repeated his name, louder.

“I hear you, what do you want?” the large aspirant responded without looking at him.

Saeg looked over at him, frowning slightly. “Do you know what’s happening?” He asked.

Ehant turned his head and looked down at Saeg. “Oh, yea. You weren’t there. You were in the Medicae.”

“Weren’t there for what?” Saeg asked.

Ehant looked around at the aspirants in the hold. “We’re the failed who lived.” Some of the aspirants made eye contact with Saeg, others looked away in shame, a few expressed anger or frustration by spitting on the deck and cursing.

Saeg shook his head. “The failed who lived? I don’t understand.”

Ehant looked back at him. “A number of us that failed also died in the attempt. Either fallen climbing the face of the escarpment or eaten by the Oluje,” he said, looking away. “Those around you survived either because fear stole their chance or else fate did.”

“What happens now?”

An aspirant with dark skin and hair responded. “Sargeant Vehn told us we would be returned to the  _ Umbra Rex _ to meet our fate, either as a servant of the Chapter or, if we are found to be useless and truly craven, a servitor.”

“Thus are all who fail in the eyes of the Emperor rewarded.” Said another aspirant seated somewhere in the gunship Saeg couldn’t see.

“Shut yer bleeding gob you lily-livered fanatic!” Yelled yet another aspirant. “By the Emperor, I hope you get turned into a servitor! It’ll be the life you’re most capable of!”

“A life in service is a holy one!” The first aspirant yelled back. “If I am to be a servitor, I likely will serve one of our Astartes Lords as a reward for my piety! You will end up cleaning the waste recyclers of the gunnery slaves! Buried for eternity up to your elbows in night soil to reward your lack of piety!”

The hold of the gunship echoed with dark laughter as each aspirant tried not to think of the fate that awaited them on the  _ Umbra Rex _ . One by one, the aspirants quieted down as each felt the press of gravity lessen as the gunship exited the atmosphere. As an armoured personnel gunship, the Thunderhawk possessed few viewing ports. Those it did have were small in size and offered nothing in the way of a view. That is until the Thunderhawk began its final approach.

The great battleship was a massive killer, over eight kilometres of the ancient ship craft of the Adeptus Mechanicum. Enormous gun blisters, void cannon emplacements, and defence systems encrusted the ancient and black enamelled hull. Gothic structures rose above the surface of the ship’s hull in homage to the Emperor and the Raven Guard Chapter. The scars of battle that marred the skin of the mighty vessel did nothing to reduce its raw lethality. The  _ Umbra Rex _ exuded an aura of authority and power inherent in both the Adeptus Astartes and the greater Imperium of Man.

Most of the aspirants saw nothing of the  _ Umbra Rex _ ’s gothic grandeur through the small viewports in the Thunderhawks armoured skin. Even those that were able to see something of the  _ Umbra Rex _ were unable to process what it was they were seeing. It wasn’t until the weight of gravity re-established itself as the gunship passed through the flight deck integrity field that they were aware that their journey was almost over.

The pilot of the Thunderhawk touched the gunship down on the hanger deck and opened the rear ramp. “Aspirants,” a transhuman voice said over the internal vox system. “Exit the Thunderhawk and arrange yourselves for inspection. Do not tarry.” The restraints that had kept them snugly in their seats during the flight retracted, freeing them to stand. As they exited the ramp as ordered, Saeg took a quick look around. The hanger was full of vehicles, menials, and servitors working on types of craft he had never seen before, let alone name.

Waiting for them as they came down the ramp were two unaugmented humans dressed in smart black uniforms emblazoned with the Raven Guard Chapter Symbol on their right breasts. The stood before a group of at least thirty aspirants. The older of the two had close-cropped silvery hair. The other, a younger man with dark eyes and dusky skin. Slightly apart from them stood a figure in the red robes and augmentations of the Adeptus Mechanicus. Glowing green lenses were all that were visible under its hood. The Space Marine Librarian Enoc Zar stood to one side; present but apart. They all watched silently as the aspirants arranged themselves into two additional rows of ten abreast.

“Welcome to the  _ Umbra Rex _ ,” the older of the two humans said when they had all lined up. “I am Tebior. Like you, I failed to be selected to ascension to Astartes.” He scanned the group of aspirants, proud despite his admission of failure. “The younger man beside me is Hashupt,” the other man inclined his head in acknowledgement.

“I too failed to be selected,” Hashupt said. “We are joined today by Adept Siclicious of the Mechanicus.” The martian priest said nothing, though the glow under the hood brightened slightly. “While you have failed the tests to be elevated to the Astartes, many Chapters, including the Raven Guard, choose to grant those deemed worthy to continue to serve in one form or another.”

“You will be subjected to testing by Adept Siclicious over the next two hours,” Tebior said. “Those found to possess useful skills or attributes may still don the Black or else serve as a member of the ship’s crew. Those who do not,” Tebior paused and frowned, “Well, best not to entertain those thoughts.”

“And if we should refuse? What then?” A short but muscular youth from the larger group asked, a challenge in his voice. “Will you hollow out our skulls and make of us lowly servitor?”

Tebior shook his head. “That is not for me to say, nor even for me to decide.”

“I am not some slave to do with as you will!” The young man growled.

“No,” Hashupt said sadly. “You are not slaves. You are all loyal servants of the Emperor and of the Adeptus Astartes.” He stepped forward and looked the now former aspirant in the eyes. “Do not do disgrace upon yourself by now acting childishly. Though the honour and glory of the Astartes is not your to have, there is still honour in service.” The aspirant looked back into Hashupt’s face for a moment before nodding. Satisfied, Hashupt stepped back.

Saeg’s thought he heard a low humming sound as Adept Siclicious slowly began to rise so that the hem of the priest’s robe barely skirted the deck. “Follow.” It said in an electronically modulated voice that gave no clue to its gender.

“You heard the Adept,” Tebior said. “Move out!”

As the aspirants turned to follow the Adept, the space marine spoke. “Hold.” They all paused and turned to face the Astartes, even the Tech-Priest such was the command inherent in his voice. “Gamma sixteen, step out of the line.”

Saeg looked at the Astartes for a moment, shock and bewilderment clearly displayed on his face.

“Gamma sixteen, fall out.” Tebior barked after a moment. Saeg did as he was told, stepping clear of the line. When he was clear of the formation, Tebior and Hashupt both bowed to the Librarian before Tebior once again ordered them to move out.

As he stood to the side, watching the failed aspirants following the Tech-Priest out of the hanger, Saeg could feel his fellow aspirants glancing at him. Some of the looks were looks of curiosity, others were a mixture of suspicion, jealousy, or anger. When the last of the former aspirants had passed him on their way to an uncertain future, Saeg felt the heavy steps of the Librarian as he came to stand behind him.

“You are confused.” He said. There was no question, only a statement.

Saeg turned to look up at the space marine. “Yes, my lord. I’ve failed, just as the others did. Why don’t I join them?”

Enoc Zar looked down at Saeg, and for a moment a brief smile appeared on his pale lips. “I did not say that you failed, only that your performance necessitated your removal from your fellows in the Third Wing.”

“Lord?”

“You have power Saeg,” The Librarian shifted his gaze from the young mortal’s face to the retreating backs of the failed aspirants. “Raw, dangerous, but possibly one that you can be taught to use in service to the Imperium and the Emperor.”

Searing pain and cerulean blue lighting arching through the pack of Oluje leapt from Saeg’s memory, his limbs twitching in sympathetic rhythm with it. The Librarian did not look down at him. “If you survive the challenges and tests we must put before you, you could one day be counted amongst the members of your nascent Chapter’s Librarius.”

More tests, Saeg felt the thought come to him unbidden as he turned to look in the direction the other aspirants were taking. Will this ever end?

Enoc Zar chuckled. “Walk with me.” He turned and walked towards another set of blast doors without waiting for Saeg. “Allow me to illuminate you.”

Together the Librarian and the aspirant walked through the corridors of the ancient warship. As the walked, Enoc Zar began to speak. “Mankind’s evolution has been a blood-soaked progression throughout time,” he said as they walked. “Our species reached the absolute heights of technological advancement nearly fifteen thousand years ago. We call this period, the Dark Age of Technology. Only the Emperor knows how much of what was known of and from has been lost to time but what we do know is that near the end of that Age, Mankind first began to see individuals capable of psychic potential in large numbers.”

Saeg listened with interest as the Librarian spoke. “May I ask a question?”

“I think we can indulge some degree of curiosity,” The Librarian replied. “At least, for now.”

“If humans were developing psychic potential in large numbers as you say, why are they feared and reviled now?” Saeg asked.

“A good question, aspirant,” Zar replied, approval clear in his tone. “During this period of mankind’s history, an age we call the Age of Strife, a great catastrophe occurred that unleashed terrible warp storms across known space. During that time, men and women with psychic potential lost control of or were subsumed by their powers, becoming epicentres of horrific events that doomed Billions across star system after star system.” He stopped speaking as a small group of mortal men and women wearing the same Black uniforms emblazoned with the Raven Guard symbol entered the corridor ahead of them. They stood aside and saluted as Saeg, and the Librarian passed.

“In the end, the Age of Strife nearly spelt the destruction of our species as a whole. Where many lost control, some were able to harness their enhanced powers rising to dominate their people and planets leading to a different kind of horrors. Power of any kind can corrupt, to wield the powers of a psyker is no different. For that reason, and more, many cultures came to “hate and fear the witch and the psyker.”

Slowly the realization of what the space marine was saying came to him. He had demonstrated this same kind of abilities when he unleashed his rage on the Oljue and probably every time he had witnessed the effect of time slowing around him. His steps slowed as he the conversation in the Medicae facility in Vehnholm hit home. “I’m a psyker,” Saeg said, stopping.

Enoc Zar had continued to walk a few paces before turning to look at the young man. “Yes Saeg, you are. Untrained you are a threat to everyone one around you.” His dark eyes belied no warmth or care as he spoke. “You failed the endurance Saeg. Spectacular as it was, without Brakus you would have died at the foot of the escarpment.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

“However, individuals with your gifts and the genetic compatibility to be elevated to an Astartes are even rarer still than a standard aspirant,” He continued. “According to Sergeant Vehn, you excelled at every other obstacle put before you.” The Astartes turned and continued to walk, Saeg, still somewhat in shock followed. “You are being given a second chance, aspirant.”

“If I should fail?” Saeg asked, his mind racing with unknown possibilities and expectations.

Zar snorted then glanced over his shoulder. “There is no scenario where failure does not herald death for you, Saeg.”

They continued to walk down corridor after corridor, the silence between the Astartes and aspirant remained unbroken as the minutes stretched into hours. As they walked Saeg realized that not only did he had long ago lost any sense of direction but that the presence of mortals like himself had faded away completely. Even the smells of the ship had changed.

Finally, the pair turned a corner and proceeded down a long corridor. Massive and ornate metal doors adorned with arcane looking symbols etched into the metal and inlaid with silver that made his eyes sore looking at it awaited at the end. Panels had been carved into the doors at a regular interval, within which transhuman skills likewise inlaid silver symbols resided. Standing before either side of the door stood a Raven Guard Astartes, his bolter held across his chest. As they approached, the two Astartes stood aside to make room for the Librarian and his charge.

Saeg stood looking at in awe in the artistry and intricacy of the portal. The hairs at the back of slowly started to stand on end as the doors began to open in response to a command uttered by the Librarian that he felt rather than heard. As the doors swung open, Enoc Zar turned to Saeg and gave him a grave smile.

“Welcome to the Librarium, aspirant.” He said. “Now enter.”

 


	16. Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emperor's Angels are few in number compared to the teeming mass of humanity. Few have the genetic predisposition that makes them likely candidates to become one. Fewer actually make it, most die in the attempt. Even fewer have the potential to become a Librarian, a warrior who possesses not only the transhuman gifts of the Astartes but also incredible psychic potency. Saeg's spectacular demonstration of power at the foot of the escarpment has marked him as a psyker with the potential to become one of the nascent Chapter's Librarians. Having already failed once, can he find the strength of will to overcome his own pre-conceived notions and fears?

Enoc Zar and Saeg proceeded beyond the threshold of the portal and into the Librarium itself together. Once inside, the grand doors closed behind them, the tumble of complex locks and gears faint but noticeable from this side. The space within the Librarium felt different than the rest of the  _Umbra Rex_  Saeg had seen. There was a calm and sereneness to the atmosphere within that was absent beyond those doors.

The Astartes and aspirant proceeded down the short corridor that opened up into a large vestibule. The floor within was rich black marble with the Raven Guard symbol inlaid in pearlescent white stone. The walls of the vestibule were sheathed in the same black marble as the floor, a heavy looking door dominating the center of each wall. Like the outer door, these doors were likewise decorated with the Iconography of the Raven Guard. The remaining space of the walls was inset with recesses with benches carved same from the pearlescent stone as the Chapter symbol and shelves filled with row upon row of leather-bound books.

“Take a moment, Saeg,” The Librarian said noting the awe on the aspirant’s face. “The Librarium is our sanctuary on board the  _Umbra Rex_ ,” he said. “Not only is it a sanctuary for the Librarians of the Third Company, but it is also a repository for our battle records, after-action reports, and the lore and relics gathered by the Company over the centuries.”

“Does every ship in the Chapter have a Librarium?” Saeg asked, reaching out and gently touching the spine of a volume.

“No,” Enoc Zar replied, watching the aspirant. “Each Company Flag-ship has one, though each is much smaller than the Librarium of the Ravenspire.”

“I see,” Saeg turned and looked at the Astartes.

“One day, should you survive your trails and training, you will inherit a greater responsibility than the majority of our brothers. A Librarian does not just wield their psychic might in service of the Chapter and the Emperor. We are the guardians of our Chapter’s history and lore.” Enoc Zar said looking at the rows of volumes. “It is a solemn duty.”

Saeg looked back at the books on the shelves. “I cannot read or write,” he admitted after a moment.

The Astartes nodded. “Not all who come to the Chapter are able to read or write. That is something that will be remedied should you be successful. Come, it’s time for you to join the others.”

Enoc Zar turned and headed back towards the outer doors, pausing before them as Saeg came up beside him. As the door mechanism slowly swung open the doors, Saeg looked over his shoulder at the space behind him. For the first time in his young life, he felt a yearning. It was almost like something within the Librarium was calling to him. When he returned his gaze towards the door, he saw that the Enoc Zar was looking at him.

****************************************************

The Librarian led the aspirant through corridor after within the battle-barge until they reached an unpopulated area of the ship. They spoke very little during that time. Pipe and conduit could be seen in the ceiling and below the metallic grate beneath their feet. Though he did not know it at the time, they were in the bowels of the great vessel, far away from the Librarium.

“What is this place?” Saeg asked, looking around.

Enoc Zar grunted. “The Captain would not allow the perspective to remain in the Librarium for testing and training,” he said as he walked. “Instead, in preparation, this area of the ship was cleared of non-essential personnel to make room for the aspirants.”

“Why would the area need to be cleared?”

The Librarian looked over his shoulder at him. “Psykers can be difficult to train. Putting them under extreme stress can cause unexpected reactions.”

“Ah,” Saeg said, reminded of the events at the base of the escarpment.

Enoc Zar returned his gaze to the corridor before him. “Indeed,” he said. “You will be placed with other aspirants with psychic potential. The challenges here will be from different from the ones you experienced on the planet.”

Saeg offered no response, and none appeared to be needed. Eventually, they arrived at another doorway. The approach to the section was entirely unlike the one leading to the Librarium. No Astartes guarded the simple metal door that stood mostly unadorned. Some letters in red were painted across the seal of the metal, but, as before, Saeg was unable to read it. The Librarian reached out and pushed a button to the right of the doorway. Slowly the thick doors ground open.

Within Saeg could see a vast space that must have been used as a storage facility at one point in the past. The floor was marked in regular intervals where once large metal containers must have been placed for long years uncounted. Two rows of bunks were now stacked along the far wall of the room with each bunk appearing clean and uniform. Two rows of metal tables and benches were situated to the side of the bunks. Communal showers and sealed lavatory facilities took up the other side of the hold.

“This is training barracks Alpha,” The Librarian said. “You and the other aspirants will sleep and eat here.” He turned and looked down at Saeg. “Use of psychic powers outside of the domains of the tests and trials are forbidden. Failure to abide by this rule will result in the aspirant being judged unfit, their ultimate fate worse than that of the aspirants you arrived with.”

“I think I understand, my Lord,” Saeg responded.

Enoc Zar nodded once. “Good. See that you do,” he said ominously. “An untrained psyker is a danger to everyone around them. As such, you will not be able to leave Alpha unescorted; the machine-spirit will not open the door. Do not waste your time trying. The other aspirants who will arrive in the next few hours will be in the company of Lexicanium Balasser. He will operate as both trainer and evaluator much as Sargeant Vehn did. Obey him as you did the Sergeant.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Be mindful of yourself and Balasser’s lessons, aspirant Saeg,” the Librarian turned and strode out of the converted hold; the large metal door sealing with a solid thud.

Saeg stared at the door for a minute after the Astartes had left. His mind was racing with images of what he had seen and what he had been told. The concepts he had been raised with, indeed, that his entire culture had been beholden to when it came to those who bore psychic powers were contrary to those demonstrated by the Raven Guard. On Herne Secundus, people that possessed or rumoured to possess supernatural powers were feared as corrupted or unclean or both. Authorities would occasionally come to investigate reports of witchcraft, and though no one in his lifetime had been taken away, it had happened in the past. As he went to examine the bunks, he continued to reflect on his situation.

The memories of sitting in front of the hearth in his parent’s home, listening to his father’s words of wisdom played out in his mind. Tomas often spoke to his children of respecting the forest and the animals within it, not just because most were deadly but because the forest was a balanced ecosystem that provided for them. Fish too much, kill to much game, cut or burn down too much of the wood and the balance would be broken, and it’s bounty lost.

He also imparted that the God-Emperor of Mankind on distant Terra guided and protected mankind through his divine might and the might of His armies. Seag’s father’s wisdom, like that of the vast majority of people he had met on Herne Secundus, all subscribed to the idea that psykers were witches who trucked with obscene powers. Only through the God-Emperor could that obscenity be harnessed for the good of the Imperium and Mankind. Now if he were to believe the Astartes, he too was a psyker, a witch and had been all along. His skin crawled with momentary self-loathing at the thought of it.

Saeg’s desire to deny it warred with the evidence presented to him during the Endurance. No normal human being would have been able to survive a confrontation against an entire pack of apex predators. If a man were skilled and lucky, he might be able to kill one of them but not all. Eventually, the pack would bring even the most skilled augmented human armed only with a knife. Not to mention the fact that the blast of lightning from the heavens had left him without wounds of any kind spoke to the supernatural nature of the phenomenon.

He selected one of the lower bunks and climbed into it. The mattress was thin, allowing him to feel the rigid structure of the frame beneath it. He lay back, looking at the base of the bunk above him. All that Saeg knew of the history and nature of the Astartes is that they were mortal men elevated to the Emperor’s Angels by dint of His science and Will. They were of Him, and as such, were holy. That the Astartes utilized, psykers had surprised him, though now that he was giving it some thought it shouldn’t have. Someone would have to combat the witches in league with the dark powers.

As a mere man, Saeg was tainted by din of the revelation that he was a psyker. Epistolary Zar had implied that a fate worse than a mindless husk as a servitor awaited him should he fail to be worth of elevation. His very soul was damned to corruption if he remained as he was. That was just was not an option. He would show himself to be worthy or die.

Saeg lay on the bunk for an unknown amount of time, lost in thought while he stared at nothing. A small chime that emanated from somewhere on the frame brought him back to the present. Looking around he found a small display flashing digits at him that he was unable to read, but that had obvious significance. With a small sigh, he rose from the bunk and went to examine the lavatory, feeling the need to relieve himself.

The lavatory was split into two sections, one section possessed a row of toilets and a row of wash stations. The other part consisted of a large tiled area with nozzles and taps. Growing up so far away from the village and larger cities on Herne Secundus, Saeg’s family had only a large wooden tub for bathing in. It was labour intensive to heat enough water to bathe in, and so he had done so rarely. He had only seen a shower once before. On one occasion Saeg had accompanied his father to town and business had run late, the merchant being extremely busy. Tomas had splurged and rented a room at the local inn. It was the first and only time Saeg had experienced a shower that hadn’t come in the form of a rainstorm.

Deciding it had been a good long while since he had been able to bathe, let alone wash, Saeg disrobed and entered the area of the space given over to banks of showers. Detecting his presence, the nozzle sprayed lukewarm water at him that smelled somewhat metallic. A small dispenser provided a foaming cleaning solution that allowed Saeg to thoroughly clean himself for the first time since he had awakened on the  _Luminous Correspondence_  so many months ago. It felt good and made him feel more human, especially in light of recent revelations.

Exiting the shower dripping water, he stepped onto a grated section of floor and above him an unseen device engaged. A powerful blast of warm air blew down on him, stripping his hair and flesh of residual moisture from the shower. As abruptly as it started, the device turned off, and Saeg peered up at the spot to see if he were able to see it. Shrugging to himself, the aspirant returned to where he had removed the bodyglove only to discover that it had been replaced with a clean one. There must be a servant or servitor somewhere that had taken it and provided the new one.

Saeg donned the fresh bodyglove, the feeling of the new material welcome against his clean skin. As he finished, he caught a reflection of his face in a polished piece of metal. Even taking into account the blurred surface, it looked nothing like what he remembered. Running his hands over his head, he felt the stubble of his hair regrowing on his scalp. The Medicae had shaved it to cleanly close his wounds. He traced the new and healing scars on his arms and legs beneath the bodyglove. Saeg noting their locations before doing the same on his face and neck, wincing where the deeper wounds had been.

The boy from Herne Secundus was unrecognizable in the reflection before him. If he was honest with himself, the revelation of his psychic potential combined with the trauma he had suffered made him feel like a different person. He stood staring at the reflection for a minute before inclining his head as if he were meeting a stranger for the first time. It was an odd sensation, both strange but also right in a way. He turned away and started walking towards the bunks.

The sound of the massive internal locking mechanism in the barracks door began to rhythmically click as it rotated. He quickly approached the door, stopping and standing a few feet away from it. As the doors slid back in their track, Saeg could see an Astartes he assumed was Lexicanium Balassar standing in the midst of a small group of six aspirants gathered to either side of him. Like Epistolary Zar, Balassar in his battle plate towered above the aspirants. The battle plate, while less ornate and for more unadorned shared similarities in colour and the iconography on the shoulder plates. Unlike the battle-plate wore by the Epistolary, the Lexicanium’s armour did not possess the crown like device.

The Astartes stepped forward, his heavy tread causing a slight tremor in the deck. “Aspirant Saeg, code Gamma 16,” The deep transhuman voice, so similar to Sargeant Vehn’s and Epistolary Zar’s echoed slightly in the hold.

“Yes Lord,” Saeg responded, placing his hands over his chest in the form of the Aquila.

As Balassar stood there looking at him silently for a moment, Saeg felt a small creeping-like feeling under his skull. His face twitched slightly in response to the sensation. The Librarian smiled before motioning to the other aspirants to enter. “Aspirants,” he said, addressing them all once they had come to stand around Saeg. “Welcome to Alpha Barrack. This will be your billet on the  _Umbra Rex_  until you are judged worthy of the honour of being elevated to the Astartes, succumb to the difficulties of the trails and die, or be judged unworthy and gifted to the Sisterhood of the Inquisition’s Black Ships.” The Librarian shifted his gaze to Saeg. “Explain the rules to them Saeg. I must be elsewhere.”

Saeg watched as Balassar turned on his heel and exited the hold, the doors grinding closed behind him. He waited until the locking mechanism had finished its motion and the room was once again silent. He turned towards the bunks and pointed at the one he had occupied earlier. “First rule, that bunk is mine.”


	17. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aspirants of Alpha Barracks have been thrust together by shared necessity. Each possesses some degree of psychic might, the ability to harness the power inherent within the Immaterium with their minds. A total of seven of them out of the entirety of potential aspirants delivered to Volos Secundus by the harvesters of the Mechanicum. During the calm moments before the trials begin, the aspirants of Alpha share in a moment of comradery.

The first interaction between the members of Alpha barracks was not a smooth one. Many of the aspirants had met for the first time in the hanger. Saeg’s declaration regarding the “first rule” was not well received.

“First rule, hmmm?” A boy with cool sepia coloured skin and bald pate asked neutrally. “What would the second rule be?”

Saeg turned to look at him. “The use of psychic powers outside of the domains of the tests and trials are forbidden, “ he replied. “Any who violate this rule will be judged unfit and failed. I gather that the results of this particular failure are far worse than what happens to the other aspirants.”

The dark skin boy nodded. “Anything else we should know, wise one?” With the emphasis, the boy placed on the words wise one. Saeg was pretty sure that the boy thought he was anything but; he chose to ignore it.

“The machine-spirit will not open the door for us, and I was warned to not try. Lexicanium Balassar will operate similarly to the Sergeants of the Talons, and we should obey him as such.” Saeg shrugged. “That’s about it.”

Most of the new arrivals wandered off to claim their own bunks. There were more than enough beds in the barracks to accommodate the seven of them. Enough that Saeg found himself wondering if multiple generations of inductees may be housed together in Alpha barracks at a time. One of the younger aspirants approached him as he was watching the others.

“I am Alono Taki, Scion of House Alono of Lomnia,” the youth said introducing himself. He bowed slightly to Saeg while making the sign of the Aquila.

“Saeg, son of Tomas of Herne Secundus,” he responded, likewise making the sign of the Aquila.

Taki peered closely at Saeg for a moment. “You appear clean, Friend-Saeg,” He said, a slight tremor of excitement in his voice. “Tell me, have you been able to wash?”

“Yes,” Saeg responded, slightly confused. “The facilities on the other side of the barracks are both shower and lavatory.”

Taki smiled broadly. “Thank you Friend-Saeg. Please excuse me.” The young aspirant wandered off in the direction of the showers. Saeg watched him for a moment until he entered the portion of the facility given over to the showers.

Taki was not alone in his desire to thoroughly wash. Before long, all of the aspirants took their turns in the shower units. When they had all emerged cleaner and seemingly happier, Taki had suggested that they all introduce one another. With nothing better to do, they had all gathered around the tables.

“I shall begin,” Taki said as he rose from the bench. “I am Alono Taki, Scion of House Alono of Lomnia.’ His warm tawny coloured skin was now visible without all of the smudges of dirt on it. “It is an honour to be counted among you.” He gave a slight bow, looking at each of them with his dark eyes before sitting back down.

The aspirant who had asked of the rules when they had first arrived stood next. “My name is Vilem. I have no grand affiliation with either house nor planet to claim me.” He slowly sat back down ensuring that there was no one behind him first.

A tall and lanky aspirant with ashen skin and violet eyes looked around the gathering. “I guess I’ll go next,” he said when no one else was forthcoming. “I am Edan, of the Lady of Solace. I am voidborn **1**.” Pointing to another aspirant, one short with rich olive toned sitting on the bench at the opposite table, Edan continued. “He is Fahim, also of the Lady of Solace, though he was born elsewhere.” Fahim made eye contact with Edan, who sighed slightly before continuing. “Fahim does not speak. Normally, he would use the silent voice to communicate but as we are denied this, do not expect much.”

“I,” a short aspirant said, placing a light golden toned hand on his chest as he stood. “Am Rastus, a thespian from the House of Vibrant Colors on Aita Prime.” He said, sketching a deep bow. “Truly, only the elevation to an Adeptus Astartes could outstrip the lambent glow of the stage and adoration of the masses.” He paused a moment, looking at the others expectantly. Saeg got the impression that Rastus was expecting applause or some other appreciative response. A sour look briefly crossed the aspirant’s face before he too sat down.

The final aspirant stood. “Ioane, Aita Tertius,” he said shortly before returning to his seat. Ioane was a broad-shouldered youth with sun-weathered terracotta skin. Rastus sniffed in reaction to hearing the name of Ioane’s planet and shifted over on the bench putting more distance between them even though they were not sitting on the same bench. Ioane for his part did not react in the slightest.

The group looked over at Saeg, and he inclined his in acknowledgement. “I am Saeg, from Herne Secundus,” he said.

“Your face bears many scars,” Said Rastus. “I had not heard that Herne Secundus was so brutal a world.”

Looking at the others, only Ioane and Vilem bore and visible scars. “It is not, it is a Feudal world, this is true, but it is not Feral. The scars I bear were earned on the surface of Volos Secundus.”

“You were of the Wings?” Asked Ioane.

“I was,” he replied. “Third Wing, Second Talon.”

Rastus sniffed dismissively. “A late bloomer then.”  
Saeg was starting to take a dislike to the thespian. “Forged in combat. Born in blood and lightning.” Saeg said with a nod. Taki and Vilem grinned in appreciation.

“Tell us, friend-Saeg,” Taki said excitedly. “Tell us the story of your scars!”

At first, Saeg was unwilling to talk about it. The wounds, both mental and physical were still relatively fresh and thinking about the situation brought unresolved feelings to the fore. That was until Edan spoke.

“If the other’s experiences are like my own then you are the only one who has been to the surface of Volos Secundus,” he said. “We have all been recently awakened from stasis and left to languish.” The others nodded. “It would be helpful to know what we are facing.”

Saeg looked at them all gathered around him. They were all boys, like him at the cusp of manhood. None of them really knew what was coming and despite his time in Vehnholm, neither did he. Without really intending to, he found himself already starting to speak. “If you want to know the story of these scars, first you need to appreciate the circumstances under which they were earned,” he began. “Fifty of us marched for many hours from Ravendown Fortress north into the wilds of Volos Secundus. Sargeant Vehn’s pace was brutal and even I, taught by my father on Herne Secundus as a hunter and woodsman, was exhausted by the time we reached the clearing where we were to construct Vehnholm; the compound where we would live and train.”

Saeg spoke of the first nights spent in the forest and of the Talons. He spoke of the initial confrontations within his own Talon as well as the others. The aspirants were all listening to him. Some, like Taki and Ioane, listened actively and intently. Others, like Vilem and Rastus, feigned disinterest but Saeg could tell that they were listening. While he was speaking, servitors came and delivered an evening meal. The aspirants ate in silence while Saeg continued to talk around mouthfuls of nutrient paste.

The further he progressed into the story, the more his audience was drawn into it. He could see from the looks on their faces that they were growing more and more concerned with what the future on the Umbra Rex would hold for them. Eventually, even Rastus’ face lost its look of haughty disinterest to be replaced with doubt and concern.

Finally, Saeg reached the point of the story where he talked about the challenge of the endurance. He left nothing out regarding the fear and horror he felt witnessing the Oluje feast on the body of the unknown aspirant. While talking about the race to the face of the escarpment and the discovery of Lesin’s body he spoke of the shared feeling of sorrow over his loss.

Rastus pushed his empty bowl of nutrient paste away and shook his head in disbelief. “Why would you feel sorrow over his fate?” He asked, the question seeming genuine.

“The training, the risk, and effort, it changes you,” He said softly. “We had started to become something like brothers.”

“I find that difficult to accept,” Rastus said. “None of us really know each other. How can we expect to develop something like a brotherhood between us when all we’re focused on is surviving?”

Saeg shrugged. “I don’t really know,” he admitted. “Maybe it’s because it causes you to have something in common with each other at a basic level? Maybe it’s because you’re not going to survive without working together. Or maybe it’s something they put in the food.” He smiled slightly when Taki sniffed at his bowl.

Taki looked up at him. “That is not the end of the tale is it Friend-Saeg?” he asked.

“No, it isn’t.”

Saeg picked up his tale from where he left off. He described the scene as the sun started to slip below the tree line and the sound of the Oluje pack as it hunted them from the shadows of the forest. How Trajen, the aspirant born amongst the cliffs and mountains of his homeworld had led the rest of the Talon up the escarpment as quickly as they could. Saeg spoke of Brakus’ desire to remain behind in his place and the moment when despite being offered the chance to escape why he chose to stay.

“I could have run and left Brakus behind. I had no way of knowing that despite everything I would survive,” Saeg said, looking at the empty bowl in front of him. “I couldn’t though, something in me wouldn’t let me let Brakus throw away his life for me when I was responsible for his.”

A few of the aspirants nodded thoughtfully. Taki responded. “It is ever thus, Friend-Saeg,” he said somberly. “Those who lead must always weigh the lives of under their command against their own or that of the objective.” He bowed his head. “So, sayeth the War-Sage.”

“Who?” Edan asked.

“Forgive me Friend-Edan,” Taki said. “The War-Sage is the name we give to the founder of our House, Alono Heidono.” Taki smiled proudly. “He was a great warrior and philosopher from my homeworld before the coming of the Imperium many generations ago.”

Saeg waited to see if there were any more comments or questions. When none were forthcoming, he described the conflict with the pack of Oluje and their Alpha. He tried not to embellish the story only underline the severity of the life or death conflict. He described the acid like burning sensation of the wounds inflicted by the claws of the monster, the smell of its blood as he scored the wound on its flank, the pain of the grinding agony of the ends of his broken ribs grinding against one another. He wanted them to understand the extremes of suffering, frustration, and the ravenous need to live that drove him to reach so deep within. That deep and silent place where he could instinctually feel the electricity in the aether and call it forth with all his will.

“The ground flash froze a second before a column of lighting wider than this table roared down from the heavens and surrounded everything in a brilliant blue.” He said softly, the vision of the form of the Oluje Alpha charring and cracking before him as the electricity drove everything from sight. “It was blinding. When my vision cleared all around me was a blackened ruin.” He sat for a moment, staring off into the distance.

Vilem had crossed his arms while he listened to the culmination of the story, a faint look of doubt clouding his face. “What happened then? Did you climb the escarpment?” Rastus sniggered slightly.

Saeg shook his head. “No. I was overwhelmed by pain and exhaustion and collapsed unconscious.”

“How is it you survived then?”

“Brakus climbed back down from the ledge where he had seen the entire thing.” Saeg still couldn’t countenance what the new leader of Talon Two had managed to do. “He then bore me to the top of the escarpment on his back.”

Rastus leaned back against the table. “A fantastical tale, Saeg. One worthy of the very best in plebeian holo-dramas.”

Saeg turned his gaze to the other aspirant. “It’s the truth Rastus,” he said blandly. “I nearly died of my wounds and would have if Brakus had not born me to the top. He nearly fell multiple times ascending that rock face with my dead weight on his back. He could have made it easily unencumbered,” he paused. “I owe him my life.”

“I for one appreciate Saeg telling us of his experience,” Edan said. Fahim nodded and then turned towards the doors of the hold.

A moment later, the thick metal parted and began to slide back into their recesses in the surrounding wall revealing Lexicanium Balassar still arrayed in his battle-plate. “Aspirants,” he said as he entered the barracks. “I trust that your hours together have been well spent?”

“Yes, Lexicanium,” they replied in unison, though with varying degrees of enthusiasm.

The deck shook slightly with each step he took towards them, and the hum of his armour’s power pack made their teeth itch. “Good,” Balassar said as he stopped before them. “Prepare yourself. Starting now, you are aspirants of the Librarius. You do not yet understand what that means, but you will. Like all aspirants your body, as well as your intellect, will be pushed to its limits.” he glanced at each of them in turn until his eyes rested on Saeg. “An aspirant’s will is tested and tempered during the standard tests put to an aspirant of an Astartes Chapter, it’s metal tested. As a prospective Librarian, your will and soul will be tried beyond the point where normal men falter and break.” Balassar’s gaze hovered on him for a heartbeat before he continued. “The winds of the Empyrean can only be harnessed in the service of the Emperor and Mankind through unrelenting restraint and indomitable will. Only those who possess these and other qualities we have yet to speak of may be elevated to the ranks of the Librarius. Here endeth the first lesson.” Turning, Balassar began to walk back towards the doors separating Alpha Barracks from the rest of the ship.

Saeg heard a voice call out. What happens to those found wanting?” The other aspirants glanced towards him, and he realized that it had been he who voiced the question.

“Death or the Black Ships, aspirant,” came the response as the Astartes neared the door, the heavy metal slabs drawing back at his approach. He stepped through the door and then turned to look back at the members of Alpha Barracks. “I suggest you all get some rest. You’ll need it.” With that, the doors began to grind closed. They closed with a finality that the aspirants felt as well as heard.

Tomorrow, their trials would begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Voidborn: Though relatively few, these individuals are the byproduct of generations of humans being born and raised in space.  Believed to be touched by the warp, these individuals are strange somehow.  Many are un-naturally pale, thin and tall, or otherwise, have an odd otherworldly way to them.


	18. Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The training and testing of the aspirants under the watchful gaze of Lexicanium Balassar have begun and not everyone is doing well. Saeg, newly awakened to his psychic potential is struggling more than the others. Despite weeks of intense training he continues to disappoint his mentor. Can he unlock the secrets to controlling his power or is a cell on the Black Ships his fate?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the holidays coming up, and all of the associated birthdays in my family there may be a greater delay then normal but I will absolutely try to post more story when I can! I'm really happy people are enjoying this story! It's now the longest work I've put to paper as it were!

Lexicanium Balassar was relentless as the days stretched into weeks. Every day the aspirants awoke and spent the morning strengthening their bodies and physical combat skills.  The afternoons and evenings were devoted to doing the same with their minds and psychic potentials.   
  
As of late, they had spent time attempting to use their mind to separate shards of twisted metal from a jumbled pile one by one. As they trained, the Librarian imparted wisdom appropriate to their task.  “It is not enough to be in possession of great physical strength or vast psychic power. The pursuit of such is a trap for the unwary.” He said on one occasion as he stalked between them as they sat on the floor attempting to visualize the tangle of metal that lay before each of them so that they could untangle to metal pieces without looking at it. “Raw power can get the job done,” Balassar continued. “But more often then not it is like using a maul to open a Walwechu Nut.  So if focusing only on raw power is a trap, if the application of raw force is more often destructive, what is the answer?”   
  
Taki answered. “Control, Lexicanium.  Without control, a warrior is nothing. So sayeth the War-Sage.”   
  
“Very good Aspirant Alono,”  Balassar said. “But what is control? Rastus?”   
  
“It is the application of Will, Lexicanum,” The aspirant replied after a moment, teasing a piece of metal from the twisted mass before him.   
  
“Will is hard.  Will is unyielding and relentless.  Through Will, power is directed, shaped, controlled, precise.”  The Astartes Librarian continued as we walked around and amongst the aspirants.  Most had managed to remove multiple pieces of metal from the twisted pile before them.  Saeg had so far been the only one unable to lift even a single bit of metal clear.   
  
It was like opening your eyes in the dark.  Saeg knew that the pile of tangled metal shards lay before him, but he was unable to remember their exact arrangement and structure.  He strained and tried to focus his mind, willing himself to see, trying to control the image in his head. Nothing changed, like straining to see in the darkness, the vision was blurry and indistinct.  A sigh of frustration came unbidden to his lips just as the bell tolled.   
  
“Time,” Balassar announced. “Open your eyes and look upon your successes and failures.”   
  
Saeg opened his eyes and stared down at the tangled mass of scrap metal before him.  His temples throbbed with tension as his frustration grew. He wanted to lash out and smash the bits of metal, scattering them across the room.  Why? Why couldn’t he hold the image of the metal pile in his mind? As he sat there staring at the object of his frustration the massive shadow of the Librarian stopped before him.   
  
“Saeg, another disappointing failure,” the Librarian rumbled. “This is one of the simplest tests of control yet you are unable to remove even a single piece.”   
  
Saeg continued to stare at the metal. “I can’t see it Lexicanium.  I try to hold the image in my mind as you instructed but it slips away faster the more I try to grip it.”   
  
A small piece of metal slowly slid out of the tangle without noticeably disturbing any of the other pieces of metal.  Slowly it rose upwards until it was level with Saeg’s eyes. Soon enough it was joined by another and another until none remained on the floor. Saeg could see the other aspirants from the corner of his eyes watching. “Control is essential, aspirants.” He said.  They hung there, each piece spinning ever so slowly on its axis; suspended by the power of the Astarte’s mind. Suddenly, the metal pieces dropped, pinging against the decking where they struck. They scrapped and scratched at each other as they were randomly jumbled together once again into a pile. “Without it, Chaos reigns.”   
  
With the lessons ended for the day, the aspirants made their way back to Alpha Barracks.  As they walked, they discussed all that had occurred during the day. Saeg paid the conversation little attention, focused as he was on his failure.  Tomorrow would bring a new host of training and tests. Each of them more challenging than the last. He felt exhausted; as if like a deep weariness had settled into his bones and refused to let go.   
  
When they arrived at the Barracks, Saeg continued past the tables already set with foodstuffs to the showering facilities to scrub the dust and dirt from his skin.  It was amazing that even on a vessel in the black of space that dirt and dust could gather and coat his flesh just as it had on Volos Secundus. However, unlike the dirt and dust on the planet, this was oily and grimy and resisted his efforts even with the abrasive detergents he used.  He stood under the water as it washed the cleanser and the grime from his body. With his head hung he watched the suds slip down the drain below his feet.   
  
His frustration with his failures with the test of his control was beginning to become more like the dirt from the ship.  It was getting harder and harder for Saeg to leave it behind in the training hall. Taking a deep breath, he held his face up towards the nozzle of the shower unit and let the metallic tasting water splash across it.  It ran across his face and trickled into the corners of his mouth and eyes. He let out an explosive breath he didn’t realize he was holding and stood there for a moment, his eyes closed, listening to his environment and relaxing.   
  
He could hear the sound of the water spraying from the nozzle and the gurgle of the reclamation system in the drain beneath his feet.  He could hear the faint noises of the rest of the aspirants talking and eating out in the barrack and the slowing sound of his own breathing.  Time seemed to slow around him, and suddenly he could see the individual drops of water as they left the shower nozzle. He watched seemingly from within the pipe of the reclamation drain as ribbons of water and detergent cascaded through the slots in the cover to be whisked away down the length of the pipe.  He watched as Taki approached the shower facilities on slow, measured steps before stopping before the enclosure and open his mouth to speak.   
  
“Friend-Saeg?” Taki called out, time returned to normal, and Saeg opened his eyes.  The water hissed out of the nozzle and down over his skin before draining away. Whatever change to Saeg’s perceptions ended the moment Taki had spoken. “Come, or Rastus and Ioane shall consume your portion as well!”    
  
Saeg twisted the dial on the wall to the closed position to shut off the water before he responded. “I’ll be there in a moment Taki.  Thank you.” Looking down at the remnants of the water dripping from his fingers Saeg’s brow knitted in thought. What was that? He shook his head and stripped some of the water from his face and hair before stepping into the drying grate.  The blast of warm air rattled in the vents above him but dried him off quickly. Once he had donned the fresh bodyglove, he exited the showers to see Taki leaning against the wall watching him.   
  
“Friend-Saeg,” Taki greeted him with a smile. “Edan is watching your bowl, but even he will get bored with denying Rastus and Ioane in time.  We should hurry!” The smaller aspirant fell in beside Saeg.   
  
The two aspirants walked back to towards the table where Edan was fending off Rasta by slapping the other boy’s knuckles with his spoon.  Ioane meanwhile was watching the exchange intently waiting for the right moment. The other aspirants jeered as Edan delivered a vicious blow to his besieger only to have Ioane snatch the bowl from under his elbow. The terracotta skinned aspirant then crowed victoriously and raised the bowl of nutrient gruel over his head in celebration.    
  
Saeg walked up behind Ioane just as he raised the bowl over his head and snatched it from him. “Thanks,” he said in a monotone voice before walking around the side of the table and sitting beside Edan as Ioane’s face fell.   
  
“Er… no problem Saeg,” he said lamely but good-naturedly.   
  
Saeg took a long and loud slurp from the bowl while looking over the edge at Rastus who glared back. Even though the gruel smelled like pine resin and had a slightly metallic taste to it, Saeg smacked his lips and grinned. “Tasty,” he said with bits of gruel dripping from his chin. Ioane startled them all by starting to laugh.  The aspirants looked at each other then, one by one, they all started laughing until all seven of them were wiping tears of laughter from their eyes. The laughter of the aspirants echoed loudly in the hold, their owners blissfully unaware of the trio of servo-skulls that hovered at different locations far above them in the gloom.   
  


  
*******************************************   


 

  
  
Deep within the armoured skin of the Umbra Rex, three Astartes stood arrayed in their battle plate watching the pict-displays.  Epistolary Enoc Zar and Lexicanum Balassar stood shoulder to shoulder and slightly apart from their brother. Chaplain Orhan Pelic stood motionless in the skull-faced helm of his calling, watching the aspirant’s behaviour through red-crystal eye lenses.  When he spoke, his voice echoed through his grill-speakers hollowly. “Then it is time?”   
  
Enoc Zar turned his head and looked at his brother. “It is Brother-Chaplin,” he responded. “They approach the tipping point where elevation to the Astartes would be dangerous otherwise.”   
  
“The Inquisitor has been informed, and one of the Black Ships are in route prepared to take any who fail.” The Chaplain said with a particular distaste evident in his voice.   
  
“You do not approve Brother-Chaplain?” Asked Balassar.   
  
“I dislike that an Inquisitor is involved in Astartes affairs Brother Balassar.” came the response.    
  
Enoc Zar grunted. “A necessary compromise.  There was no chance that Inquisitorial involvement would not be a factor considering the scale of this endeavour.”   
  
“At least Inquisitor Van Staal has been deferential and has remained at arm’s length,” Balassar commented.    
  
Pelic chuckled hollowly. “I suspect that her agents are simply more discreet than the others have been.”  He turned away from the pict-screen and looked at the Librarians. “Proceed, we shall see which among them are fit.”   
  
“So be it,” Enoc Zar responded as the Chaplain proceeded beyond the light cast by the pict-screens.  Turning to Balassar, the Epistolary glanced once more at the imagery of the aspirants gathered at the tables. “Who would you choose to begin with?”   
  
“Saeg, my lord,” the younger Librarian responded.   
  
“Why is that?”   
  
Balassar looked at his mentor. “He’s the most likely to fail.”   
  
Enoc Zar sighed. “Very well, return to the Librarius and make the necessary preparations.”

  
  
  
*******************************************   


 

  
  
The explosion rocked Alpha barracks sending the aspirants tumbling from their bunks.  Sirens and klaxons rang out over the internal vox-casters, and emergency lights cast a ruddy glow over the interior of the hold. Along with the other aspirants, Saeg worked to regain his footing after being thrown to the deck.  Blood from a shallow cut on his forehead trickled down the side of his face. “Anyone seriously hurt?” he yelled over the noise.   
  
“Not seriously, friend-Saeg,” Taki responded from where he was looking at large goose-egg that was forming on Rastus’ forehead. “This is going to swell friend-Rastus,” he said to the aspirant.   
  
“Leave me be, Taki,” Rastus grumbled, gingerly touching the bump on his head.   
  
A massive bang followed by a roar rocked the barracks, this time sending only a few of the aspirants sprawling to the deck.  “What in the name of the Emperor is going on?” Vilem yelled from beneath a tangle of bed sheets as he attempted to extract himself from them.   
  
Edan reached down and started unwrapping the cloth from around Vilem’s limbs. “The first felt like we were hit by something.  Perhaps void weaponry,” He said looking at Fahim, who nodded in agreement. “The second sounded like explosive decompression. I don’t have to tell you how bad that is if that’s the case.”   
  
They all looked at one another. “Should we try and get out of here?” Rastus asked, looking around him at the walls of the hold.   
  
Fahim shook his head, and Edan explained. “We don’t know if there’s fire or hard vacuum on the other side of that door.  Even if we were able to open it, we have no way of knowing without being able to see into the corridor outside.”   
  
Saeg frowned. “Couldn’t we touch the door?” he asked.  “If it’s hot, that means there’s fire and if it’s cold, wouldn’t that mean that the corridor’s open to the void?”   
  
“Those doors are thick, it’ll take time for them to change temperature,” Edan said. “We can check them in a little….” he broke off as an odd sound echoed down from the ceiling.  All of the aspirants looked upwards just as three large figures detached themselves from the pipes and dropped to the decking surrounding the youths.   
  
They were Astartes, their battle-plate baroque and ancient in design.  The midnight blue ceramite was edged in bronze and covered with etched symbols that seemed to crawl and writhe under the surface and make the aspirants retch and gag.  Proudly displayed on the shoulder was the emblem of a leathery winged fanged skull. These are not the Emperor’s Angels. Saeg thought as the largest of their number took a menacing step towards them.   
  
“Look what we have found brothers,” he said, voice dripping with cruel amusement and venom. He turned the red crystal lenses of his curled horned helm towards Saeg. “A pack of witchlings ripened on the vine for us by our fool Cousins.”   
  
The other two Astarted laughed, the humourless tone causing Saeg’s blood to run cold. “A fitting offering for Strigoi.” One of them said it’s voice a breathy rasp.   
  
“Their blood smells sweet but thin, brothers.”  The third Astartes whispered, “Eight would have been best, but six is just as good as seven.”  Long metallic claws slowly slid from the oversized gauntlets. Each blade was longer than Saeg’s arm, and the edges glinted with the sheen of poison. It began to reach towards Fahim who stood shivering unable to move.   
  
“No Brother,” the first of the three Astartes replied, an amused tone audible despite the distortion of its vox-grill. ”Strigoi will want to choose the purpose of their flesh and vitae.  No violations, not predations. Such are our orders.” The two other Astartes growled their ascent and nodded.   
  
Saeg managed to find his voice. “Wha…what are you?!” He whispered in horror.   
  
The Astartes turned their heads towards him. “We, little witchling, are your doom and salvation.”  He took another step forward. “We are the sons of the Nighthaunter. We are the Nightlords.”


	19. Like Water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Night Lords now have the aspirants of Alpha Barracks in their clawed hands. Corrupted and foul, what does the fallen Astartes want with them? Are they intending to use them as a sacrifice to some obscene demonic entity? Does this Strigoi intend to turn them into servants of the Ruinous Powers or perhaps shape them into traitor Astartes of the Night Lords Legion? What hope do Saeg and his fellow aspirants have against three ancient and malevolent space marines?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belated "Happy Holidays"! I hope that the end of 2018 is both wondrous and exciting! May 2019 be full of happiness, joy, and plenty of new fan fiction! Thank you all for reading!

The aspirants stood huddled together like terrified children and the Night Lords chuckled with each expression of terror they uttered. Saeg watched the fallen Astartes with apprehension, what had they meant by ‘offering’? With quick, furtive glances, Saeg looked at the three Night Lords.

The first who had spoken, the one who seemed the leader, wore armour that was more ornate than his brothers. The midnight-blue ceramite was encrusted with bronzed runes and fanged skulls. He stood apart from the others; as if standing too close to them was an irritation. He radiated malice and cruelty but also weariness.

The Night Lord who had spoken of tasting the aspirant’s blood stood to the side, a string of viscous fluid dripping from the fanged maw shaped vox-grill of his helmet. Where the liquid hit the deck, it smoked and pitted the metal. The rest of his armour was streaked with patches that appeared melted and pitted as if the viscous fluid dripping from the helm had run down across the dark ceramite. A deep and consuming hunger, unlike anything the aspirant had felt gnawed at him whenever he looked at him.

The raspy-voiced Astartes must have noticed him looking at his brothers and leaned in close to Saeg, lowering his head so that his glowing helmet lenses were level with the aspirant’s eyes. “You bear weighty scars for one so young witchling,” he said, a condescending note in its tone. “You smell of blood and pain and failure.” This close to him, Saeg could see dried blood and bits of rotting meat that clung to the lines, cracks, and creases of the midnight-blue ceramite.

Saeg tried to control the shaking in his limbs as he stared into the depths of glowing red crystal lenses. “As do you,” he responded without thinking. “I can feel the bitterness in your soul wafting from you like the scent of a pile of fetid offal.”

Saeg heard the collective gasps from the other aspirants around him. The Night Lord was silent for a moment. “I think I shall ask Strigoi for the pleasure of flaying the flesh from your bones,” he hissed. “Tell me, little witchling, do those scars mar the rest of your body as well? Do you think you will scream when my blade first touches your flesh or will the screams come as it slides beneath it?”

His bravado spent, Saeg recoiled from the Night Lord. The three chuckled at his reaction. “Ah, little witchling,” the ornate armoured Night Lord sighed with amusement. “Strigoi will like you. I pity you for that.” He turned and started walking towards the doors of the hold. “As entertaining as this is, it’s time we leave this place.”

“We shall go nowhere with you unclean wretch!” Taki cried though his voice trembled as he spoke.

The ornate armoured Night Lord turned and nodded to his raspy-voiced brother. The Night Lord lashed out with his foot, striking Taki in the thigh. The force of the blow shattered the aspirant’s upper leg with an audible crack, and he crumbled to the deck screaming. Contemptuously the fallen Astartes took a step forward and stepped on Taki’s knee and lower leg crushing it under his weight. Taki howled, tears streaming down his face as he writhed in agony under the crushing weight. Grunting with satisfaction, the Night Lord shifted his boot and slowly pressed down on Taki’s foot. Taki’s screams became shrill as the bones in his foot were crushed to powder. When the Night Lord removed his boot, all that was left of the aspirant’s leg was a ruined piece of meat. Taki’s screams continued for a moment longer before he passed out from the pain.

“What beautiful music Skrzak,” the ornate armoured Night Lord complimented his brother, who inclined his head in acknowledgement as the aspirants stared in horror at Taki’s ruined leg. “Will he survive long enough to serve Strigoi's purposes?”

“He will live, Moroi,” the raspy-voiced Night Lord responded. “I have not forgotten the trade of the Apothecary Brother.”

The third Night Lord slowly bent down until it’s helm hovered over Taki’s ruined leg and inhaled deeply. The fluid exuded from its helm began to drip faster as if the volume had increased. “What a fine aroma,” It purred. “Meat and marrow, agony and terror! Please Moroi, just a taste!”

“No Capkun,” the ornately armoured Moroi responded firmly. “I will not be held responsible for ignoring the sorcerer’s ‘request.’” He turned to address the aspirants. “Now then my little ones, are there any others who would like to protest coming with us?” When no one spoke up, Moroi turned on his heel and proceeded towards the door.

“Pick him up,” Skrzak ordered the aspirants, pointing at Taki’s unconscious form with one clawed gauntlet. Vilem and Saeg moved to pick him up but the Night Lord blocked Saeg. “Not you,” he said and then pointed at Ioane. “You.” Ioane hurried over to Vilem and between them lifted Taki. “Move witchlings, hurry now.”

  
*****************************************************************

The Night Lord Moroi had manipulated the machine spirit of the Alpha barracks’ door and forced it to open. As soon as the doors opened, black smoke began to flow into the hold. Something on the deck was burning. The black smoke was thick and choking, and it threatened to deprive the aspirants of their breath. Warning Klaxons continued to wail outside of the barracks. The Night Lords pushed them relentlessly, passing through bulkheads that appeared to be melted or cut through by powerful weapons or tools.

The Night Lords herded the aspirants through the belly of the Umbra Rex. The corridors were strewn here and there with the ruptured and ruined bodies of the ship’s crew. Capkun could no longer resist the obvious temptation offered by the blood-strewn corridors, he smacked his lips and grumbled to himself until finally, he stopped beside the corpse of a muscular Chapter serf. The fallen Astartes reached down and slowly tore the arm away from the shoulder as if it were the leg of a roast fowl. Saeg turned his head to look behind him at the sound of the noise of the arm’s disarticulation. “You will not wish to see this witchling,” Skrzak said, his rasping voice tinged with disgust and amusement as the pressure seals on Capkun’s helmet hissed as they released.

In the faint glow of the ships emergency lighting, Saeg saw flashes of a hairless and corpse pale face, riddled through with scars and dark black veins. Thin, pale lips opened releasing a torrent of the same viscous fluid that flowed out of the Astartes maw past broken and rotten teeth. As it lifted the torn limb to its mouth, Saeg looked away. A depraved moaning accompanied by the sound of meat being shredded away from the bone reached his ears regardless. The moaning continued now accompanied by a grotesque chewing sound. As the aspirant began to retch, Skrzak started to laugh. “Such habits brother,” he said, chortling.

Moroi paused and looked back at his brothers over his shoulder, the lenses of his helmet glowing in the half-light. “If you are finished, brother,” he said addressing Capkun. “Strigoi awaits and time is not our friend.”

The sharp crack of bone and obscene suckling noise reached Saeg’s ears before Capkun responded, his voice once again augmented by his helmet vox. “My apologies Brother,” he replied. “The hunger is sated for now, just.”

Looking at his fellow aspirants, Saeg could see the terror written plainly on their faces. He was sure that a similar look was writ on his own features. Some of his fellow aspirants, like Rastus, were utterly unmanned by the terror they all felt. It appeared that it was all he could do to put one foot in front of the others. Others, like Ioane, seemed to be holding it together, if just barely.

Saeg glanced at Taki’s face. His face was pale and drawn. The agony of his broken limb thankfully kept him unconscious. A fierce rage slowly started building inside Saeg as he looked at the ruination of Taki’s leg dangling uselessly in the body glove. Why were these Astartes doing this? He looked up from Taki’s form to glared at Moroi’s back, praying silently to the Emperor that He strike them down with His wrath!

As they reached a junction corridor, Saeg could see the edges of a ragged hole punched into the sidewall of the far passage. The splayed nose of a boarding torpedo jutted into the corridor, opened like the pedal of some ugly metallic flower. “Excellent,” Moroi purred. “Now my little witchlings, climb in.” He waved towards the opening.

“Stop, Traitors!” The growling voice of an Astartes yelled from behind them. Moroi and Skrzak whirled around and opened fire with their bolters. Seag and the aspirants turned a moment later to see a fire team of Raven Guard Astartes ducking behind the ribs of the corridors and behind boarding shields before returning fire. Sparks pinged off of the Night Lords’ armour as the large rounds punched into them.

Capkun roared and extended the lightning wreathed claws on his gauntlets. Leaping towards the loyalists, his armour scraped the ceiling of the corridor as the jets on his back roared sooty flame. “Death to the false Emperor!” He screamed landing among them and carving a boarding shield and the Raven Guard behind it in half.

“Fool!” Moroi yelled at him as his brother launched himself towards them. An odd sensation crept up Saeg’s spine. Already damaged by the boarding torpedo, debris crashed down around them from the ceiling, knocked loose by the Night Lord’s leap. Moroi and Skrzak took advantage of the impromptu cover and continued firing at the loyalist marines from behind the shattered metal pipes and decking. Some kind of aerated fluid hissed down from the ruptured pipes in the ceiling, and the sensation that crept up Saeg’s spine suddenly ran hot.

“Move!” He yelled at his fellow aspirants, pushing them towards the sealed corridor beside them. “Get down!” An explosive bolter round ricocheted upwards from the auto-reactive shoulder-pads of one of the Night Lord’s and detonated within the ruptured pipe. A blinding but short-lived explosion filled the corridor and roiled over the heads of the aspirants before the ceiling and deck above crashed down to fill the junction. As flame, smoke, and metal filled the intersection Saeg finally lost consciousness.

He was the first to come around, and he groggily looked around him. The aspirants all lay together in a tumbled pile against the sealed bulkhead door. Taki lay beside him, his eyes staring upward. When a piece of ash landed on his open eye, and he did not blink, Saeg knew the aspirant was dead. He reached over and struggled to close the Alono Taki’s eyes for him. One of the aspirants on top of him groaned as Saeg moved beneath him.

“Did anyone get the reg number of that ground car?” Rastus asked before shift around and looked at Saeg. “Oh. Hi.”

Saeg gave Rastus a weak smile. “Please get off me, Rastus. You’re heavy.”

Rastus nodded and rolled off of him. “Sorry Saeg,” he replied before looking at Taki beside him. “Is he…” the other aspirant left it hanging.

Sighing, Saeg nodded. “Yes, he’s gone to join the Emperor.”

On the other side of him, Edan pushed himself up and looked at Saeg. ~Vilhem and Ioane are both dead.~

Saeg blinked. “What did you… oh, the silent voice.”

~Yes.~ Edan’s voice reaching Saeg’s mind. ~I see no reason to restrain ourselves now. ~Communication is more important.~

“I agree,” Fahim said where he lay against the bulkhead door, a spar of metal pierced his shoulder. Bright blood oozed from the wound. A thin trickle of blood ran from the corner of his mouth.

They all moved over to Fahim. Rastus examined him, paying close attention to the colour of the blood. “Not good,” he said. “I think you have internal bleeding. If we can’t you help soon, you’ll be dead in less than two hours.”

Fahim nodded. “The only way out is through this door,” he said before a tearing cough wracked his body.

The pile of debris behind them shifted. They all turned to look at it. “Do you think it more will come down?” Rastus asked nervously. There was little enough room before the bulkhead door as it was.

The odd sensation ran up his spine again. Saeg looked at the pile of the debris. “I don’t think so,” he said. “But I don’t think it’s a good idea to try either.”

The other aspirants followed Saeg's gaze. “What do we do then?” Rastus asked.

~I suggest that we all try and harness our powers and force the bulkhead,~ Edan replied.

Fahim nodded. “I don’t think that the Librarians would hold it against us that we tried considering the circumstances.”

Rastus looked at Saeg. “You think you can do this?” He frowned. “You haven’t exactly been the most reliable with your powers.”

Saeg looked away from the now constantly shuddering pile of debris and met Rastus’ eyes. “I will try, at worst I’ll stop.” He shifted his gaze to Edan and then Fahim. “I’ve never lost control. I’ve just not been successful.”

~Nothing to lose.~ Edan said.

After a moment, the four aspirants turned to the bulkhead door and closed their eyes. They quickly ran through the preparatory exercises and ritualistic-like chants designed to help channel their will and focus just as Lexicanium Belassar had taught them. While each visualized the process slightly differently, each of the aspirants mentally grabbed hold of the seam where the bulkhead door sealed to the floor and lifted.

The metal began to vibrate slightly. Tendrils of frost slowly began to form along the walls, the door itself, and the debris. The laboured breaths of the aspirants steamed as the temperature continued to drop in the confined space. Drops of sweat rose on their brows only to freeze in the cold as the four of them struggled against the weight of the door and the mechanism designed to resist explosive decompression.

Fahim began to cough, flecks of blood froze as they hit the air around him. “I...can’t…” he wheezed before his will suddenly collapsed. With the loss of Fahim’s will, the strain and frustration began to mount in the remaining aspirants. Saeg heard an audible groan from someone, perhaps even from him. “Stop…” Fahim wheezed. “It's…not...going...to...work.”

Rastus was the first to let go, followed by Saeg and then by Edan who slammed his fist against the bulkhead in frustration. ~You’re going to die.~ He said, looking at Fahim.

“Yes,” Fahim said as another coughing fit wracked his body. Rastus tore a strip of cloth from the sleeve of his bodyglove and used it to wipe away the blood around Fahim’s mouth. They all stood there silently, looking at their fellow aspirant helplessly watching him die when the debris pile rattled and shook again.

Saeg slumped to the deck with frustration and exhaustion. He barely noticed the water slowly beginning to pool around him until his knees started to get cold. He looked at the pile of debris and watched it shake again, more violently this time. That odd sensation in his neck returned and started getting warmer. He looked back at his fellow aspirants. Rastus and Edan were trying to make Fahim more comfortable. The later was so pale that Saeg was sure that the strain of trying to lift the door had hastened his blood loss.

He sighed and looked back at the pile of debris and then down at the water pooling there. He looked up at the ceiling where a cracked pipe was dripping what appeared to be a blue oleaginous fluid. Drip, drip, drip, each drop falling and landing on the pile of rubble and debris. When the next drop of blue liquid splattered onto the wreckage, he followed it with his eyes until it disappeared. His mind grasped at a half-realized concept as he looked down at the pool of water around him.

There near the edge of the debris, which again shook, a bit more violently this time, he could faintly see a tendril of the oily blue fluid making its way deeper into the puddle. He stood and peered at the dripping pipe in the ceiling. It seemed otherwise intact.

“What...is...it...Saeg?” Fahim struggled to ask.

He turned and looked at the three of them. “What is it that Taki used to say?”

Rastus frowned at him. “He was always quoting his war-sage when he wasn’t calling us friend-Rastus or friend-Saeg.”  
“Yes, but what did he say specifically about the war-sage’s wisdom about water?” Saeg asked.

Edan looked at him blankly for a moment and then snapped his fingers. ~He said: ‘...be shapeless and formless, like water’.~

“...it can flow, or it can crash,” Rastus added.

Fahim nodded. “Yes...that...was...it. Be...like...water.” They looked at one another.

Rastus shook his head as he wiped fresh blood from Fahim’s lips. “How does that help us?” He asked.

“Personally, I find it better to be like a shadow,” A deep and raspy voice said from behind Saeg.

Saeg spun around on his heel. There, trapped behind a thick lattice of heavy fallen debris, stood one of the Night Lords. “Sweet Emperor!” Saeg exclaimed in shock and horror. The fallen Astartes had lost his helm, and his armour was burned and scored.

His eyes, utterly black from scleral to the pupil, scanned over each of them. He opened his mouth, showing teeth that were cracked and rotten, and ran a bloody wyrm-like tongue over them. “Too few left now. Too few by far,” The skin on the Night Lord’s face was so pale as to almost be colourless. Deep lacerations crisscrossed its surface, some fresh and other ragged scars.

Fahim started retching blood and bile as the fallen space marine looked at him. “Skrzak,” he retched the name out along with more blood.

“Very good,” Skrzak said looking in Fahim’s direction. “Too bad you will soon be only meat, little witchling.” The Night Lord wrenched at a piece of metal, twisting and turning it until it snapped off and he could throw it behind him. The fallen Astartes was tunnelling through the debris to get to them.

Saeg retreated back towards the bulkhead door. “We’re out of time.”

Rastus glanced at him then smirked before responding, his terror making his voice sound shrill. “You think? I hadn’t noticed.”

Skrzak laughed. “Ah, gallows humour. Laugh now little witchlings, soon you will be screaming forever.” He purred, wrenching another piece of debris away.

“I’m going to try something,” Saeg said. “If it works, grab Fahim and run.”

~What are you going to do?~ Edan asked.  
“Be like water.”

Saeg closed his eyes and concentrated on the bulkhead door behind him. He visualized his will moving like rivulets of water and let it find cracks and little spaces in the massive door. Slowly at first but then moving swiftly once he found a way inside, Saeg hunted for a path towards the locking mechanism. As he did so, he could feel the temperature drop dramatically. Reaching the locking mechanism, Saeg bent his psychic power towards the complex tumblers. One by one he shifted the massive pins locking the bulkhead door in place. He was breathing heavily now, beads of sweat were running down his face. Saeg felt Fahim lose consciousness.

Skrzak hissed as he wrenched another piece of debris away to send it crashing behind him. “Strigoi will reward me still for the gift of your flesh!”

As the final pin released, Saeg turned his focus to the massive gears and hydraulics that would raise the bulkhead door. He allowed his thoughts to flow towards them, building up pressure beneath, around, and within them. With a tearing groan of effort, he lifted, and the door responded by rising six inches.

“You’re doing it Saeg!” Rastus exclaimed his terror momentarily forgotten.

Edan’s silent voice rang in his ears. ~Let us help!~ Saeg could feel Rastus and Edan’s will joining with his. Together they lifted the door a foot and a half, but the strain was enormous.

“No!” Skrzak roared. Tearing at the debris blocking his way to the aspirants. “The Gods WILL have you. Strigoli WILL have you!”

Saeg dug deeply into his reserves, throwing everything he had into bracing the door. “Rastus, Edan, go.”

~Not without you.~ Edan yelled against the roaring torrent in Saeg’s mind.

He could feel Rastus pause, then nod. He ran over and grabbed Fahim by the shoulders. “Edan, let’s go. He’s committed.”

Edan laid his hand on Saeg’s shoulder. ~Thank you brother.~ He said sadly before rushing to help Rastus drag Fahim under the door.

The Night Lord was screaming with fury, tearing the last of the debris away just as Edan and Rastus pulled Fahim clear. Saeg opened his eyes, cerulean fire wafting from them as he let the bulkhead door slam back down to the deck.

Skrzak had drawn a short stabbing blade. “Your soul is mine witchling.” He said as he stocked forwards. His murderous intention plainly writ on his snarling features.

“No, Skrzak,” Saeg said grimly, preparing to throw everything he had at the fallen Astartes. “It will always be my own.”

The Night Lord thrust, moving faster than Saeg had thought possible, and drove the blade deeply into his chest cleaving his rapidly beating heart in two. Hot pain exploded in the aspirant’s chest, and Skrzak laughed gleefully as he twisted the blade.

Saeg gasped. With nothing left to lose, he unleashed the entirety of his psychic might through the blade embedded in his chest. “Die traitor!” he gasped as his will erupted as a crackling torrent of lightning. They both screamed as they were both consumed.

*****************************************************************

Saeg opened his eyes and took a deep and ragged breath. Every inch of his body hurt. Groggily he tried to look around at his surroundings but found that he was unable to move his head. Bright light stabbed down from above him, shrouding everything beyond it in deep shadow. Panic began to well up inside him as he realized that his arms and legs were also restrained. He gagged as he realized that a tube had been shoved down his throat.

“Reduce illumination,” A heavily augmented voice growled. The ground shook with the heavy steps of Astartes battle plate. Cold fear gripped Saeg as the intensity of the light reduced. While his eyes adjusted, a skull-faced Astartes helm slowly resolved into visibility. The glowing red crystal lenses regarded him coldly. Saeg began to truly panic, his mind already having approached its breaking point. The fingers of a cold black ceramite gauntlet grabbed his chin. “Calm yourself Novice.” The voice said. “You are among friends.”

His eyes starting to adjust to the reduced glare, Saeg could see that the skull-faced helm belonged not to an Astartes in the midnight-blue battle-plate of the Night Lords but instead belonged to Chaplain Pelic. It took a minute longer for his heart to stop banging like a drum inside his chest. When it was clear that he was calming down, the Chaplain released his chin.

Saeg starred at the cradles behind the Astartes. There he saw that the other aspirants of Alpha Barracks similarly restrained. Each was of them was illuminated by bright stab lights. Each wore a strange crown-like device on their heads. Saeg watched with horror as Fahim started thrashing against his restraints for a moment before settling down.

“You have been tested.” Chaplain Pelic stated. “And you have not been found wanting.” Saeg shifted his gaze back to the Astartes. “You are an aspirant no more.” The Chaplain turned and motioned to a servitor. “Prepare him.” The hybrid man-machine bowed before injecting a needle into Saeg’s arm. Ice sprinted through his veins. “Congratulations Saeg of Heren Secundus,” The Chaplain said as he turned to walk away. “You are now a Novice of a Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes.”

 


	20. Becoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His ordeal with the Night Lords over and now considered a Novice in the yet un-named Chapter, the young man from Herne Secundus begins the path towards elevation as an Astartes. As Saeg lies in recovery aboard the Umbra Rex as difficult truths are revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am deeply sorry that I have been unable to keep up with the schedule I set out. Life sometimes makes it difficult to do the things we want too. I have no intention of not continuing to write but circumstances may continue to make it difficult to keep up with alternating chapters every week. My sincerest apologies for that. I hope you enjoy this current Chapter.
> 
> -Nok

Two weeks had passed since Saeg, and the others had woken in the Medicae bay on the _Umbra Rex_. The Raven Guard Chaplain, Orphan Pelic had not returned to the facility since. Instead, Lexicanium Balassar and Epistolary Zar now stood before him while his body continued to recover from its ordeals.

“You have questions,” Epistolary Zar said. “Ask them.”

Saeg looked across the room at one of the empty medical slabs. “Did the other’s survive?” He watched as a medical servitor wiped down the surface. It was the third time it had done so since he had awakened, even though the slab had not been occupied.

“Not everyone survived,” The Lexicanium replied. “Ioane and Vilem succumbed.”

“How did they die?” Saeg asked softly. Though they were not friends, Saeg had seen enough of death to fill a lifetime.

The Epistolary shook his head. “They were not strong enough to withstand the rigours of the trials they faced.”

Saeg closed his eyes. “I don’t understand.” He listened to the sterile sounds of the Medicae. The soft shuffle of the medical servitors moving around the bay cleaning. The deep sound of the two Astartes breathing. The quiet hum of the active lumens. After a moment, Epistolary Zar continued.

“There are dangers in the warp, as you well know Saeg,” he said evenly. “Malevolent beings that, given a chance, would feast upon the soul of every man, woman, and child in the Imperium.”

Opening his eyes, Saeg looked into Enoc Zar’s face. For the first time, he could see the multitude of tiny scars and lines on the Astartes weathered face; a testament to a lifetime of battle and service. What things you must have seen, he thought.

“Do you know of the Great Crusade Novice?” the Librarian asked.

Saeg nodded. Once, during a trip to Hevensdown, a greybeard traveller had hitched a ride in Tomas’ wagon. The old man had told them stories of the Emperor’s Great Crusade to pass the time. Young Saeg had listened enraptured by the tales of the days when the Emperor walked side by side with his sons the Primarchs to free Mankind from the tyranny of Old Night.

Lexicanium Balassar turned his head to look at his senior, his facial expression unreadable. “In the early days of the Great Crusade, the Astartes fought side by side with their Primarch and occasionally with the Emperor Himself. In those days, the Space Marine Chapters were a part of larger structures called Legions populated by upwards of hundreds of thousands of Astartes; each the genetic Sons of their Primarchs.”

“Hundreds of thousands?” Saeg whispered in awe.

Enoc Zar nodded. “During our species first Golden Age we had spread out across the stars but when the cataclysm of Old Night fell, our once vast Interstellar Empire was shattered into scattered outposts of humanity beleaguered both from without and within. Under the banner of the Emperor and his Sons, the Legions recovered many of those scattered outposts. They crusaded from one end of the known universe to the other against the Xenos, the Mutant, and maddened warlords to reclaimed and reforged those outposts into what you and I now know as the Imperium of Mankind.”

Saeg nodded. It was a tale that he had heard before. To have it told by an actual son of a Primarch though caused chills to run through the youth’s spine. “What happened?”

“The same thing that always happens,” Lexicanium Belassar replied. “Jealousy and betrayal.”

Enoc Zar nodded. “The Emperor’s most favoured and trusted son, who had been elevated by Him above all others, turned on his Father. Through trickery and guile, he convinced half of the Primarchs and their Astartes to turn on the Emperor and embrace the Ruinous Powers in a bid to overthrow the Emperor and his loyal sons.”

“That isn't the story I've heard,” Saeg said with some confusion.

"What

"The arch-heretic Horus and his forces flooded out of the Eye of Terror. They fell upon the Imperium like locusts. Burning, destroying, and corrupting all in their path.

“The Ruinous Powers?” Saeg asked. “What are those?”

“Powerful entities of the Warp who reside in the Immaterium that exist only to sow corruption and chaos throughout the material realm.” Belassar spat on the deck at their mention, as if just mentioning their existence left a foul taste in his mouth. A servitor bustled over and began to neutralize the acidic spittle with a solution from an arm apparatus. It then sprayed the surface of the deck with a sterilizing agent before wiping the deck plate.

The senior Librarian frowned and continued. “They and their servants offer avenues to power at the cost of their souls,” he said somberly. “Psykers, as you know, are of particular interest to the entities of the warp. Through them, they can wreak great harm.”

Saeg nodded.

Balassar continued. “It would be bad enough should a line Astartes fall under the sway of these entities. A Librarian must remain vigil against the predations of the warp and the entities that reside within it. He must also be able to resist the siren call of his own powers as well as the whisper offerings from daemons. This is but one of the reasons the selection process is so demanding.”

“And so you test those aspirants who possess psychic potential beyond their limits?” Saeg asked, trying unsuccessfully from keeping the bitterness from his voice. “Consigning them to corruption or pain or death?”

Enoc Zar laid a heavy gauntleted hand on Saeg’s shoulder. “It is a cruel necessity, Saeg but it is necessary. The Adeptus Astartes is a thin line that stands between the thirsting monstrosities of this age and humanity. As a species, we can ill afford to suffer another age of darkness and civil war.”

Saeg frowned. “Why are you telling me this?” He asked after a moment. “Surely, this isn’t something you tell all novices.”

“No, it isn’t,” The Epistolary confirmed. “The Librarius of the Chapter argued for many days regarding this revelation.” Enoc Zar ignored the noise of discontent that Balassar made.“The decision to tell you and the other surviving initiates. In the end, Chief Librarian Sudevan ordered that each of the survivors is told these truths.”

“Why?”

“Those who have demonstrated aptitudes as Techmarines, Chaplains, Apothecaries, and Command will be given additional instruction as benefits those roles to better prepare this first generation to lead those that follow,” Lexicanium Balassar responded. “We have relatively little time to do this in. The Third Company can only remain attached to this duty for so long before we are called back to war.”

Enoc Zar nodded in agreement. “The best and the brightest of the potential recruits gathered so far comprise this first generation of your Chapter. Those who survive the process to become a space marine must be prepared to lead those that follow.”

“I see,” Saeg replied trying to absorb the enormity of what the Raven Gaurd Librarians were saying. After a moment he decided to ask another question instead. “What did you do to us?”

“The Crowns that you wore are relics of another age; capable of creating virtual constructs within the mind. ” The Epistolary replied.

“So none of what I experienced was real?”

Enoc Zar shook his head. “These constructs feel real to the unaltered mind in almost every way. So much so that the body reacts to the experience as if they were real. If the experience is traumatic enough then the wearer of the Crown can die.”

The look Saeg gave the pair of Astarte spoke volumes. “So Ioane and Vilem were killed by these machines?”

Balassar shook his head. “No, initiate. They killed themselves.”

“So you’ve said, but I don’t understand how they killed themselves?” He responded hotly, forgetting that he was speaking to transhuman warriors.

The look both Librarians gave him was a long one. “The Crowns do not function on their own. They require that the session is facilitated by other minds that can direct the construct in reaction to the wearer’s decisions.” Lexicanium’s tone was steady and cold as they spoke. In response, Saeg just stared at him.

Enoc Zar sighed. “Direct is a strong word for the part of the facilitating mind,” he said. “The more powerful the mind, the more influence it has over the construct as a whole this is true yet the mind wearing the Crown is completely under its own influence.”

“So you set the circumstance under which they died.” It was not a question. He glared at the space marine.

“Yes,” Enoc Zar replied meeting the youth’s gaze. “Much like Sargeant Vehn did when he decided that your Wing was ready for the Endurance. He defined the rules of the challenge and was well aware of the pitfalls and dangers that awaited you all.” Saeg looked away and was silent for a moment. He struggled with the idea. As the son of a hunter on Herne Secundus, Saeg had face injury and death before. He had faced it on the journey to Phalensthar and again during the selection trials. Regardless, it was hard to come to terms with what the Librarians were telling him. “Just as Lesin made poor choices that lead to their deaths, so too did Vilem and...”

“Why didn’t I die?” Saeg said suddenly, interrupting the Astartes.

Balassar pursed his lips, as if in thought. “What makes you think that you didn’t?” He asked.

Saeg turned his head to look at the Lexicanium, eyes wide. “I died?”

“That you did,” the Librarian responded. “In a most...electrifying way.”

Enoc Zar gave Balassar a pointed look. “Your wounds were not beyond our Apothecaries ability to treat.” The senior Librarian shifted his gaze back to Saeg. “Though I should tell you, there was discussion whether or not we should return you to life. What do you know of the Night Lords?”

Saeg, still reeling from the revelation of his death was caught flat-footed by the question. “Only what I was told in the construct.” He responded, confusion clear in his voice. “Why?”

“Out of all of the others, you were the only one to experience a construct featuring the Traitor Legions, let alone the Night Lords.” Enoc Zar said. “It casts a shadow on you Saeg. One that makes many of the Chapter wary.”

*******************************************************************

Despite being cleared medically, he had remained in the Medicae lab under the watchful eyes of the Raven Guard Apothecaries and Medicae personnel. Every day they returned to his bed-side to check on his vitals and to administer various treatments intravenously. After the first round of injections, he asked one of the Apothecaries what they were for. “Some are simple vitamins compounds. Others are stabilizing agents and foundational anti-rejection treatments,” Apothecary Craaw replied from where he stood at a medical monitoring station. “Many are too complex in function to explain to you at this time. Suffice it to say that they are to prepare your body for the procedures to come.”

Some felt hot like they were injecting scalding water in his veins. Others felt as cold as the streams fed from the ice-melt of his home world’s mountains. Some were viscus and appeared to move with a life of its own within the injector vial. These Saeg feared the most as after the injection it felt as if something living crawled its the way through his limbs. A few of the fluids they injected left him feeling warm like lying in the grass under the summer sun. There were even vials that contained mixtures that were so thin and airy that the only indication of their application was the sting of the injector.

After each injection, the Apothecary would return to his bedside and peruse the cogitator display that was connected to the host of wires, tubes, and probes attached to Saeg’s body. After this most recent round of injections, Apothecary Craaw nodded in satisfaction. “The preparations are nearly complete Aspirant,” he said with satisfaction. “Soon you’re body will be primed for the next stage.”

“What then Apothecary?” Saeg asked, an exasperated tone in his voice. “I feel like I have more in common now with my mother’s pin-cushion then a man.”

The Astartes chuckled slightly. “Then we begin the phases of implantation Aspirant.” He turned and made his way to the next medical suite.

“What does that mean?” Saeg called out after the Astartes. When he received no answer, he looked at the Medicae preparing the next round of injections. “What did he mean?” He asked her. “Please tell me?”

In response, she shook her head and pressed the activation plunger on the injector. An icy cold flooded his veins. “It’s best not to think about it Aspirant,” she said as his vision slowly began to blur. “You are about to become the inheritor of a miracle. May the Emperor keep you.” She said as consciousness left him.

*******************************************************************

The familiar sound of the monitoring station beeping faster than usual mixed with the sound of voices woke him. He struggled to open his eyes, an act of will more difficult than anything else he had been required to do before. A bright light shone directly on his face, temporarily blinding him until his eyes adjusted. Saeg tried to turn his head to look at the shapes he could barely perceive in the corner of his eyes only to find he was unable to move. Animal panic started to rise in his chest as quickly looked around the area as much as he could.

A metallic-sounding modulated voice intruded itself on his senses. “Warning. Patient exhibits signs of returning to consciousness and well as a rise in vitals.”

“Within tolerances?” A familiar voice asked.

Apothecary Craaw? Saeg tried to ask, but his mouth refused to move.

“Confirmed.” the modulated voice replied.

“Continue monitoring,” the voice that sounded like the Apothecary ordered calmly. “Prepare organs for implantation.”

A moment later a chilling high-pitched buzzing noise began directly above him. Saeg tried to struggle, his muscles refusing to respond to his commands. After a moment, the rotating disc of a saw blade lowered into his view towards his naked chest.

“Warning. Vitals spiking towards dangerous levels.” The modulated voice said. “Patient brain waves show signs congruent with consciousness.”

The blade continued to lower towards Saeg’s flesh. “Administer two ampules of Cisatriloxypanimium.” Apothecary Craaw ordered.

Ice flowed through Saeg’s veins. “Compliance.”

Nononononono, please! No! Don’t! Saeg tried to scream, this time the words escaped his throat as a muffled mumble. Electricity started to snake out from the corner of his eyes as the blade touched his skin. On contact, a flickering string of blue-black electricity arched from his flesh to the rotating blade.

“Ampules! Now!” the Apothecary yelled as more electricity arched along the youth’s flesh.

“Maximum safe dosage al...al..already a..a..applied,” the metallic voice replied, stuttering as larger bolts of electricity arched into the table and the surrounding equipment. “Damage to neural pathways imminent.”

“Emperor’s teeth!” The Apothecary swore as a bright bolt the size of his finger scorched the forearm plate of his armour. “Epistolary Zar,” he said opening a channel. “Code CobaltOmegon.”

A moment later, the Librarian responded. “Acknowledged, Brother.”

The saw blade kissed Saeg’s skin, and he watched in horror as the flesh parted and bright red blood flowed from the horrific wound. He screamed, not in pain as there was none, but in denial and shock at the ugly injury being gouged into his chest. The electricity chasing the surface of his flesh intensified with a snapping crackle.

“Whenever you’re ready Brother!” The apothecary growled under his breath as he directed the blade, opening Saeg from collar to diaphragm.

Seag screwed his eyes shut, unable to look at the ruin of his chest anymore. The angry buzz of the blade faded away. It was replaced by the sound of the gentle lapping of water. He opened his eyes and looked out across a large body of water. The shore around him was of rich black sand with the occasional large almost gleaming white stone pushing up through it. The air was heavy with a thick grey mist that obscured the rest of the scenery beyond a few meters.

“This is the only real memory I have of my childhood,” The voice came from behind him. Startled, Saeg spun around. There, leaning against one of the large gleaming white stones, stood Enoc Zar. Unarmoured, the Astartes was no less formidable looking. He was dressed in what appeared to be a sleeveless robe covered in small black feathers beneath which he wore a simple black bodyglove. “It was a favourite haunt of mine as a child.” He said looking out over the water.

“How am I here?” Saeg asked confused. He walked towards the Librarian.

Zar looked at him and smiled. “You’re not. At least, not really. I’m sharing the memory with you.”

“Sharing?” the young man asked. “Why?”

“To distract you,” The Astartes smile faded. “Hopefully to calm you. To give you perspective. Somehow you managed to fight off the effects of the drugs that were meant to incapacitate and immobilize you.”

Saeg’s eyes widened with fear as he remembered witnessing the spinning saw blade part his skin and bone. He instinctively touched his chest. “Why? Why do that to me?”

“Because we must.” Enoc Zar said unapologetically. “The Astartes are built upon the foundation of mortal men by dint of the Genius of the Emperor. We are stronger, faster, more resilient, and capable of near-mythical feats beyond which most can’t even dream of.” The Librarian leaned down and with his broad hand scraped away easily a spade’s worth of black sand from a small slab of white stone. Plucking the slab from the earth, he tossed it towards the youth. “My homeworld, like so many others, was thought lost to the darkness of Old Night.”

Saeg caught the slab, it was heavier than he expected. The stone was icy. Like it had been carved from cloudy ice. The side facing towards was flat and incredibly smooth. The other face had been shaped into a partial visage of a young woman. The level of detail was incredibly realistic. Where the front had been cleaved, the edge of the stone was blackened. It was as if it had sheared from the rest by something incredibly hot. “What happened?”

“War.” The Librarian answered. “ Wars between the City Nations and against those who possess psychic power. When the dust settled, the ancients had decimated seventy-five percent of this world’s surface and ecosystem. Once it was a veritable paradise. Where we stand now was once a glorious city sheathed in something the ancients called Froststone, the memory of which you hold in your hands, and black Crysteel the remains of which lie beneath your feet.”

Saeg looked down at the black sand beneath his feet. “It took nearly six thousand years for their descendants, my people, to return to these shores,” Enoc Zar continued. “My people, the Corxac Tribe, did not know these things at first. What little we know of that time was pieced together over centuries.”

He looked up to see Enoc Zar watching him. “Why are you telling me this?” Saeg asked. “I don’t understand what this has to do with what is being done to me.” He dropped the fragment to the ground and watched it be swallowed by the sand.

“As I said before,” the Librarian replied. “In the hopes of providing you with perspective.” He stood and started walking along the shore. “Walk with me Saeg.”

Shrugging Saeg fell in beside the Astartes. They walked along the black sand beach in silence for a few moments. Every so often they would pass large chunks of Froststone jutting from the ground the surfaces worn by age and weather. “What happened here?”

“Near as we can tell, some kind of high yield fission device or devices were detonated, but the radioactive half-life behaves oddly. We think the technology was built utilizing Xenotechnology.” The Librarian caught the look on Saeg’s face and smiled slightly. “An extremely destructive bomb was set off, wiping out all life in the city. An untold number of men, women, and children died here. Remnants of records suggest that the number is likely over ten billion people. Every building and structure within the city limits beyond the epicentre of the explosion was shattered.”

“Oh,” Saeg responded, his mind shrank from the enormity of the number and left him otherwise speechless.

“The ruins that remain below us were part of the outer limits of the city. They extend back beyond the mist and into the forest beyond.” Enoc Zar touched a shattered column of the white stone that rose out of the ground. “Many of these are the apex of the ruins below us.” The Librarian looked to the shore, and Saeg followed his gaze. “The shore is not the product of nature but a result of the explosion. The center of the city rested on the natural shore of the Sea; it grew up around a harbour many many miles from here. When the bombs went off, the harbour was shattered. Much of the land was vaporized, and the sea rushed in to drown what remained. We are standing on the edge of a crater. A testament to both the ingenuity of man and of his folly.”

Saeg bent down and ran his through the water and scooped up a handful of the black sand. “We have similar legends of the ancient days before the Imperium. I imagine, most places do to some degree or another,” he said quietly as he watched the sand flowing through his fingers. “What does that have to do with why I am here?”

“As horrific as what happened here is, without the Emperor and the Imperium, much worse awaits humanity. The Emperor, in his wisdom, created his sons, the Primarchs and they, in turn, gave rise to the Astartes. He foresaw the need for warrior’s like the Astartes and what we would face here out amongst the stars.” Enoc Zar watched as the young man ran his hands through the memory of the water, and grimaced for a moment at the strain holding the connection between them was causing him. “The need for the Astartes is great. It is a heavy burden, compared to the teeming masses of humanity we are few. The lessons learned in the dim past were hard learned and yet, we can ill afford to take any but the very best. Even then, many aspirants don’t survive selection. From those that do, the elevation to the Adeptus Astartes requires invasive surgeries, organ implantation, and gene therapy. You are undergoing the first phases as we speak.”

Saeg gasped as he felt a wrench in his chest and sharp pain. His vision blurred and he thought he could faintly hear a rapidly beeping. “I…unnghh,” he grunted as the pain increased doubling him over and driving him to his knees.

“Saeg!” Enoc Zar yelled. “Focus on me! You need to stop fighting the implantation! It will kill you if you don’t! Saeg!” The Astartes was kneeling beside him in the black sand.

He looked up at Enoc Zar with eyes filled with pain. “Stop fighting it,” he said through clenched teeth. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?” He growled.

“The mind controls the body, not the other way around. Let the pain flow around you like a river does the stone.” The Librarian said, the strain now openly on his face. “Fear, pain, sorrow, doubt, all of these things are transitory. You are the rock let them flow by. Breath. Force your muscles to relax. Chain your power to your will. Take control.”

The sharp scent of burned electronics and flesh filled his nostrils. “ I can’t. It’s too much!”

“Then you’ll die,” The Epistolary replied matter-of-factly. “Mankind can ill afford a guardian who is unable to control his own flesh let alone his power.” He stood and walked away from the water towards the mist. “If I am to suppress your power to keep it from killing my Brothers and the Novitates undergoing implant surgery I must go.” His voice echoed back to Saeg who remained kneeling in the water.

Alone within Enoc Zar’s memories, Saeg’s body shook as waves of pain chased his nerves. His chest felt heavy and felt as if it had been filed with white-hot coals. He toppled over onto the black sand and shook as his muscles locked.

“So, this is how you died Saeg?” A voice he recognized but couldn’t place asked from behind him. He struggled to turn and twist enough to look behind him. “Not the glorious ending I envisioned for you all those years ago.” When he finally managed to look over his shoulder, a young man stood there looking down at him. Even though the pain that constantly wracked his frame Saeg frowned. There was something about the eyes and the jaw. Something familiar and safe. “Do you still have the amulet?”

Then it dawned on him. “Kaven?” He whispered.

The figure smiled sadly. “Yes, brother. Not quite the reunion I dreamed of.” He said, crouching down closer. Saeg could see the lines of age and silvery strands in Kaven’s hair.

“How long?”

“You’ve been gone forty years, Saeg.”

“Forty?” His nerves thrummed with pain, and he clenched his teeth so tightly that his teeth creaked.

Kaven nodded. “Yes. I’m married now with two children of my own. We named my son after you, and we named our daughter Rois, after Mom’s sister.” He smiled for a moment. “Your namesake has married himself, a local girl you wouldn’t know. Rois is also married, to Stehan’s youngest if you can believe that! Oh, how the wheel keeps turning brother.” The sad look crept back over his face. “Dad passed away fifteen years ago, Mom two winters ago.” Kaven’s sad eyes met his brother pain-laced ones. “You haven’t aged though. Still the Saeg I remembered, despite the dying.”

“Help me,” Saeg begged. “Please.”

Kaven looked down at Saeg for a minute then smiled warmly and reached out his palm open towards his brother. “Take my hand, Saeg.”

Saeg stretched out a trembling hand towards his brother’s. Kaven watched as he reached out towards him still smiling. As their fingertips touched, Saeg could feel the warmth of his brother’s hand and the coarseness of his skin, much like his father’s had been. “Kaven, thank you.”

“Thank me by living Saeg.” A liquid warmth spread into Saeg’s hand from his brother’s and raced along his veins, wiping out the muscle locking pain in his limbs and quenching the fire in his chest. Saeg took in a deep cleansing breath and looked up into Kaven’s face. “Live well my brother,” Kaven said as Saeg lost consciousness.

*****************************************************************

Deep within the Librarius Enoc Zar leaned against the back of the hard-augite throne wearily, the crystalline veins in the stone glinting in the half-light cast by the few candles in the room. Saeg’s raw power of undeniable, if unpredictable. If the Novice could learn to control it and himself, he would be a great boon to the Adeptus Astartes. If not, well, it was better not to dwell.

The silence was broken by the appearance of Balassar as he stepped into the circle of light carrying a wrought goblet of water. “That was Brilliant, Epistolary.” He complimented the older warrior as he handed him the goblet. Enoc Zar looked haggard and weary.

Zar nodded his thanks before taking a sip from the goblet. “To what do you refer Balassar?" He asked leaning forward. "The Novice may not be suitable after all. I couldn't reach him.”

“Novice Saeg still lives and the damage to the Medicae lab was confined only to the medical slab Saeg was laying on.” The Librarian answered. “Apothecary Craaw reported that just before the psychic storm ended, the Novice whispered the words: ‘and you Kaven’. Introducing his brother was master…” Balassar stopped speaking as his mentor just stared at him.

“I withdrew my power when I left the memory construct to shield everyone in the Lab. In addition, I did not introduce the memory of the brother to the construct In fact, it should have ended right afterwards..” Enoc Zar said. “Whatever happened, it wasn’t me. Bring me the logs.”


End file.
